


Never Meant For You To Fix Yourself

by theoriginalbookthief07



Series: The ChristyVerse [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Goes to Therapy, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Gen, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, recovery is a process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26933251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoriginalbookthief07/pseuds/theoriginalbookthief07
Summary: In the wake of SHIELD's collapse, Steve Rogers' main concern is finding his best friend. But fixing a man broken by 70 years of brainwashing is not going to be easy. Luckily, nobody said he had to do it alone. Third in the ChristyVerse
Series: The ChristyVerse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962061
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! Welcome to the third installment of the ChristyVerse!
> 
> If you're not sure what that means, go read my other story entitled We Can Be Found. It sets up the background for this universe. TL;DR: the basic premise is that all the Avengers live in the Tower and Steve Rogers has adopted a nine-year-old girl named Christy.

Chapter 1

It was a semi-abnormal morning in Avengers Tower. Tony and Bruce were in the lab, working with Sam to update his wings before he and Steve began what Tony had christened "the Hunt for Red Bucktober."

Clint, newly returned from a quick check-in visit to Natasha, was fletching arrows and watching Netflix...in the air vents. Thor and Natasha were, of course, absent.

And Steve and Christy were in the throes of an argument.

(That was the 'abnormal' part).

"Christy, for the thousandth time, the answer is no. No, no, no, no…"

"But Dad…"

"You are not coming along with Sam and I to find Bucky and that is final."

Christy could feel her mouth moving into a pout. She stopped it by gritting her teeth. This was not the time to look like a spoiled little girl. This was the time to look like the mature, confident nine-year-old that she was.

Or, according to others, the mature, confident nine year old she liked to think she was.

She took a deep breath. Steve was already moving out of their living room and into his bedroom.

"Dad, it's summer. I don't have school, so you can't use that excuse. I know how to be quiet and I know how to fight. Give me one good reason why I can't come."

Abruptly, Steve spun around to face her. _"One_ good reason? How about _twenty?"_

_I didn't ask for twenty, I asked for one_ , Christy bit back. 

"You are nine years old and I'm not taking you all over god-forsaken nowhere looking for a…a very dangerous assassin."

Christy didn't miss the way her dad's voice broke, calling Bucky a dangerous assassin.

"Dad, you're going to D.C. That's not 'god-forsaken nowhere.'"

"Christy, this isn't a game. I…don't know what he's gonna be like when we find him, _if_ we find him. It could take weeks, _months_. This is a mission, not a vacation."

Christy sighed. "Fine." she muttered, walking off toward her room.

Truth be told, she'd known it was a stupid request. But it had been a very long time since she'd been with her dad for more than a week at a time.

_I'd settle for just being in the same_ _**city** _ _as him!_

"Christy, I know you're upset, but…"

The door shut with a 'click.'

Steve shook his head. What on earth had gotten into his girl? "She has a few sessions with Natasha and suddenly, she thinks she can conquer the world!" he grumbled. "She's not ready. I don't care what she thinks. This is dangerous."

True, Christy had been very helpful to have around when Loki had been in the Tower. But they hadn't had to chase Loki down or subdue him; the magic had taken care of that. Steve touched one of the still-healing scars on his face and winced.

No, no matter how good Christy was around so-called 'hostiles,' this was not the time for her to come along.

* * *

A knock on the door drew Christy out of her funk. "Go away, dad." She said. "I don't wanna talk. I forgive you, it's okay. Go find Bucky."

There was a pause. Then, "Christy open up, it's Uncle Clint."

Christy frowned, puzzled. True, Uncle Clint had been taking care of her when Dad was in D.C., but there was no reason for him to be on their floor now.

"It's open, Uncle Clint. You can come in."

Clint came in and sat next to her on the bed. He smirked a little and ruffled her hair.

"Heard you and Cap got in a knock-down-drag-out earlier."

Christy frowned. "Where'd you hear that? And does Dad know you're here?"

Clint's smirk got bigger. "The answer to both questions is air vents."

Christy giggled, but she immediately turned sober. "I wanna go help. He won't let me come. And I have to sit here in the Tower, waiting and wondering. It's not fair."

"Hate to say this, kid, but I'm kinda siding with your old man on this one. The Winter Soldier is dangerous. There's a reason they call him a ghost. He shot Tasha once before and he's killed a bunch of people."

"His name is James Buchanan Barnes." Christy shot back, sounding so much like Steve that Clint almost drew back in shock. "Bucky Barnes. My dad's best friend. He's still in there. I know it. None of you guys thought Loki was gonna be redeemable either."

Well, the kid had a point. Christy had taken up the god of mischief's case as much as Thor, even standing up to Nick Fury himself. Something about Christy made her good with hostiles and lost cases—probably her unquenchable optimism and trust, which had made even the rag-tag lot known as the Avengers shape up on more than one occasion.

Which was why Clint was bothering to go through with his plan in the first place.

"No, we didn't, kid. We all know you're good with hostiles and I know you want to be near your dad. Which is why I've got a proposition for you."

Christy's eyes lit up and then slid into a careful mask. Clint smirked.

_Someone's been taking lessons with Natasha. And taking them_ _**seriously** _ _._

"What's the proposition?"

"You, me, D.C. After your dad and Sam take off, we can head there. I can keep tabs on them, and we can wait out in D.C. for bit. Go to museums, be regular tourists and whatnot. I know a couple places in D.C. that are good safe houses. We can even meet up with Tasha for a bit. And if—when—they find him…"

"We can meet up and go back to New York!" Christy finished triumphantly. "And Dad'll be so happy about Bucky, we won't be in trouble! It's brilliant!"

Clint grinned. "Glad you like it, kid. Any specific places you wanna hit up in D.C.?"

"Uh…a lot of the monuments. And the Smithsonian, to see dad's exhibit, and…oh! The Holocaust Museum, of course."

"The Holocaust Museum, 'of course'? I swear, kid, you are the weirdest nine-year-old I've ever met."

Christy crossed her arms. "At least I care about history."

"Fair point. But Christy…"

Christy just crossed her arms. "I want to go to the Holocaust Museum because I want to remember what can happen when people forget to be people. Learn how things can get so bad that they create a super-soldier to fight bad guys. Learn what it takes to be that one person who says no and punches Hitler in the face."

Clint smirked. "You know, he never actually…"

"I know, I know!" Christy sighed. "I wanna learn about being a hero and part of being a hero is not pretending like bad things didn't happen."

Clint sighed, dragging his right hand through his hair. Yup, Crystal Rogers was definitely not your average nine year old. But she was right; with her life, what kid would be normal?

What _was_ normal anyway?

"Alright; sure; fine; the Holocaust Museum it is, kid. Just make sure to cut yourself a break emotionally, okay?"

Christy nodded. "I will. And Uncle Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. A lot. You didn't have to do this. I sorta wonder if I should even be trying to, y'know, _come_. Maybe Dad'll need alone time and stuff…he's getting his best friend back and all."

Clint just shook his head. "No way, kid. Only reason he won't let you come now is 'cause he doesn't want you hurt. Why doesn't he want you hurt? Cause you're the best thing that happened to him since he got defrosted!"

Christy could feel her jaw going slack.

"Don't believe me? Kid, Cap was a mess after he woke up. He hid it well, still does, but he was hurtin' inside. He needed you just as much as you needed him. You reminded him that his life didn't need to be in the past, that there was still someone here who he needed to stick around for."

"Yeah but…" Christy sighed and blurted out what was bothering her. "But what about now? Now I'm not the only person he needs to stick around for. What if he doesn't need me anymore?"

Clint slammed his fist into her bed. Abruptly, he stood up and marched out of the room. Across the hall, Christy could hear banging and Clint saying:

"Rogers! Why is your daughter afraid she's getting replaced by a 95 year-old brainwashed assassin?!"

Christy froze. Because Uncle Clint was _really_ mad and because Dad probably wouldn't be happy to hear Bucky referred to as a '95 year-old brainwashed assassin.'

The door opened and Steve stepped out. "Clint? What are you doing here? And what was that about Christy thinking she's getting replaced? She's not getting replaced!"

"Tell that to _her_!" Clint huffed, folding his arms. "Go on."

Steve's brain was whirling as he stepped into Christy's room. His daughter jumped up immediately.

"Dad, forget it, alright? I know you're not replacing me…" Steve just reached out and pulled her into a hug.

Christy's heaving sobs let him know that Clint was right. He sighed.

_You've been running around so much since you've been back. You've barely had any conversations longer than five minutes with her. And then, you told her she can't be with you for the next who-knows-how-long? Rogers, you_ _**are** _ _an idiot._

"Nothing and no one will ever replace you." he said firmly. Christy looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and sniffled. His heart promptly broke in two. "I promise; nothing and no one will ever replace you. You're my sunshine." Christy's face cleared a little at the endearment.

"I know I kinda sprung the whole 'search for Bucky' thing on you, and I'm sorry for that. Can you forgive me?"

She nodded. Of course she nodded. "I forgive you, Dad. I know you're not replacing me, I just…"

"I should've explained things better. I'm not trying to push you away, I just don't want you coming on the search because it's dangerous and I can't be watching your back the whole time." At Christy's protest, he added, "Come on, Christy, you know that's what I'll be doing! Can you at least understand that?"

She sighed, conceding to that point. "Yes, I can."

"Plus, we'll probably be running into HYDRA agents _and…disposing_ of them. I don't want you to see that. But after everything, when we find him, that's where you come in. Then you can help to your heart's content. Understand?"

Christy smiled and whispered, "I'll do my best." Like she had all those months ago, when an angry god of lies had been dumped into the Avenger's metaphorical lap.

Steve kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, you will. That's my girl."

"You…you can go finish whatever you need to finish."

Steve glanced at his watch. It was two o'clock and he only had a few more details to cement with Sam. "How about we have pizza and movie night? It can be just you and me, if you want."

Christy shook her head. "Nuh-uh, I want everybody, even Sam. He's nice. And funny."

Steve smiled. "I'm glad you approve of him. Just give us a few more hours to hash stuff out. We can order pizza around six. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that works. Can we watch The Princess Bride?"

"Whatever you want." Steve said. With one final hug, he exited the room, half-heartedly glaring at Clint, who was sitting on the sofa. "Satisfied?"

Clint just shrugged. "You're glad I told you, admit it."

"As you say in this century, _duh_. Of course I'm glad! How did you get in here anyway?"

"Air vents."

Steve groaned. "Right. Air vents."

"I'll look after her, Steve." Clint said quietly. "Make sure she goes to bed at a decent time, eats her vegetables; all that stuff."

"I know you will. That's why you're listed as next-of-kin." he sighed. "Look, I know you two are up to something, even if I don't know what. Just don't let Christy get hurt and we'll pretend I know nothing. Clear?"

Clint nodded, a little dumbfound. How in the world did he know…?

"Glad we settled that." Steve pressed the button on the hall elevator and stepped into it.

"Oh, and Clint?" Steve grinned. "The answer's _super soldier hearing_."

The elevator door closed.

Clint groaned. "Should've remembered that one."

Christy came out of her room, her expression cautious. "So…we still on?" she asked.

"Well he never said no…" Clint drawled. Christy's face morphed into a smile.

"Nope, he didn't."

"Princess Bride, huh?"

Christy nodded happily. "It's the best! And…the ending song fits me."

Clint raised his eyebrows. Christy was always finding 'theme songs' for everyone and everything, including herself, but he was sure he hadn't heard this one before. "Why does it fit?"

"Well it only fits because I misheard the lyrics, but I like my version better." Christy closed her eyes and started to sing, " _My life is like a storybook story…but it's as real as the feelings I feel._ It should be 'love' not 'life,' but I heard it wrong and now it's in my head, cause it's true."

The archer and the child shared a long look. It was true. Their lives were a combination of the fantastic and the mundane, like any good story, but every bit of it was very real.

Clint clapped Christy on the shoulder gently. "Come on, let's go for target practice. The next chapter of your storybook is about to begin."

* * *

Pizza and movie night was a rollicking success all around.

Like most Tower movie nights, there was a lot of chatter during the movie itself. Tony just rarely shut up anyway and Clint and Christy were usually quoting lines along with the actors or giving a running commentary. If Thor was in town, he would join in with them. Bruce and Steve just accepted the status quo and Natasha usually did the same, unless the noise level got too unbearable. Then, she would hiss in angry Russian until things calmed down.

Sam was simply enjoying everything. He was still getting used to the fact that he was in Avenger's Tower, with the Avengers, watching a movie. It was rather surreal.

"To the death." Humperdinck said on screen.

"No, to the pain." Westley replied and Christy echoed. She stood up and started mimicking Westley's movements while keeping up with his lines as well.

"What do we watch?" Sam whispered to Steve. "Her or the TV?"

"Depends." Steve whispered back. "Sometimes she's a lot more entertaining."

"Shh!" Clint hissed. Both men glared at him and Steve smacked his head lightly.

"Alright, alright!"

"Whatever happens to us, I want him to live a long life alone with his cowardice." Christy recited the line with an uncharacteristic bitterness. With Westley's soliloquy over, she sat down, looking pensive.

As the movie ended and the credits rolled, everyone started clearing out the trash from the entertainment area. Bruce caught Christy as she was throwing out a pizza box.

"Hey, are you alright? You looked like you swallowed a lemon for a minute."

Christy frowned. "I was thinking about Alexander Pierce. Is he dead?"

Bruce looked slightly shocked, but obligingly walked over to where Steve was talking with Sam, Clint and Tony. "Hey, Steve, did Pierce, y'know…is he still among the living?"

"Nope." Steve replied, short and cold. "Why?"

"Christy asked."

Steve turned to look at Christy, who was standing shyly a few feet away. "What made you ask that?"

"Well, he deserves it, but the line, the one about living a long life alone with his cowardice…it made me think of him."

"Well, Natasha electrocuted him and Fury shot him, so he's definitely dead." Steve said.

"Good. I don't like traitors or crazy people who try to rule the world."

"You also don't like bullies." Clint joked.

"That just comes with the territory." Christy replied, shooting Steve a look. Steve grinned.

"Alright, kid, I'm off to bed. Some of us are heading out early. You can stay up, but get to bed before eleven, understand?"

"Okay. Will you say goodbye to me in the morning?"

"You didn't even have to ask." Steve ruffled her hair and the two hugged.

As Steve and Sam got into the elevator and the door shut, Clint turned to Christy. "We'll leave around one tomorrow, okay? It'll give us enough time to make a road trip of things and still get to the safe house before dark."

Christy nodded. "Sounds good."

"You're leaving?" Bruce asked.

Clint smiled and said breezily. "Yeah, thought I'd take Christy on a little vacation, go see Tasha, sight-see around DC…"

"…wait around for them to find the Soldier and then casually reveal yourselves?" Bruce finished.

Clint and Christy smiled sheepishly.

"Are you two even the slightest bit concerned about security?" Tony cried. "I mean kid, you're a Rogers, so the answer is no, of course, but I'd expected better from you, Barton. D.C. is still a freaking mess and who knows what HYDRA personnel is still lurking around!"

"We're staying in a safe house." Clint argued. "I know plenty about disguises and how to lay low. We'll be fine!"

Tony still looked unconvinced.

"Besides, didn't _you_ give your phone number out to a terrorist?"

"Yeah, but that was my life at stake, not…" Christy tapped his arm.

"Uncle Tony, I wanna go. I want to be a little bit close to Dad. I don't wanna be left behind." She flashed him her best puppy-dog eyes.

Tony sighed. "Look, just promise to call if anything happens, alright? And look after her, Barton, you understand me?" Tony took his job as 'uncle' seriously, probably more seriously than most things in his life.

Clint threw up his hands in surrender. "I'll watch her, I swear! Steve already read me the riot act."

"Steve knows?!"

"Suspects. He told me as long as nobody dies, we're good."

"They'll be fine, Tony." Bruce said. "Don't worry about it."

"They'd better be…" Tony muttered. "And how exactly were you two planning on keeping tabs on them anyway?"

"He's sending Natasha updates; she made him promise. He's probably also gonna be keeping in touch with Christy. It's not that hard."

"And when he finds out, what then? Just, 'oh by the way, we're in D.C.?'"

Clint rolled his eyes. "If he finds his friend, what makes you think he'll seriously care that we showed up in D.C.? He'll be mildly annoyed for like, two seconds, tops."

Tony sighed. "Fine. But I want updates. Send me pictures."

Christy folded her arms. "I'll send pictures if you get out of the lab."

Tony looked put out but Bruce replied. "Deal, of course. Stay safe, you two."

"Promise, Uncle Bruce." Christy said. Clint nodded. "We will. It'll just be waiting around."

Tony nodded and turned towards the elevator. "I'm out for tonight. See you guys in the morning. You coming, Bruce?" he added.

"Just one sec." Bruce sat down on the couch and motioned for Christy to sit next to him. He grabbed her hand.

"Chrystal Elizabeth Rogers, I want you to listen to me."

Christy's jaw nearly dropped at the seriousness of his tone. "Uncle Bruce? What's wrong?"

Bruce thought for a moment, trying to phrase things right. "You…you have this little button inside you, Christy; a 'value' button. It's a button that says, "people are valuable and deserve respect." And when somebody acts in a way that isn't respectful to others, they push your button."

Christy nodded. "Uh-huh…"

"Pierce pushed your button. HYDRA pushed your button. And if or when you find the Soldier, you're gonna find out a lot that will push your button even more. You will be angry."

"I'm already angry." Christy muttered. "They took my dad's best friend and made him do bad things. They hurt him, Uncle Bruce. And that makes Dad hurt, too."

"I know." Bruce sighed. "And sometimes…it's not _bad_ to be angry. But I want you to remember one thing: revenge is a terrible gift to offer those we care about. And Christy, this is coming from the guy who knocks down buildings for a living. Don't let your anger control you. There are so many better things you can offer besides rage; things that are actually beneficial. Do you understand?"

Christy nodded slowly. "I think I do. I'll try, Uncle Bruce."

"That's all I'm asking."

* * *

They left at one the next day, taking one of Tony's less conspicuous cars.

Uncle Clint, Christy decided, was the best at road trips. He let her play her i-pod and much of the trip was loaded with Disney music. Around the four hour mark, they made it into DC. The traffic was present, but not terrible. Christy stared out the window at all the monuments and tall buildings. It was like New York, but different. D.C. always felt…older, grander, slightly calmer.

Clint started driving into the less official part of the city, into a neighborhood.

"This isn't where the house is, kid, but I thought we'd pay Tasha a visit."

"Why can't we just stay with her?" Christy asked.

"Because…well, maybe we can. I don't know. Sometimes she prefers to be on her own, it's safer for anonymity, but we'll see."

They parked up the street and walked into the apartment building. Natasha's room was on the first floor. Clint rapped on the chipped wooden door, which opened a crack after a minute or two.

"Clint? Why are you back so soon…is that Christy?!"

Christy smiled. "Hi, Aunt Tasha."

The redheaded spy just shook her head. "Get in; now."

They entered the apartment. It was sparingly furnished, but with a set up a bit like the Tower's Common Room. On the right was a small kitchen and dining area, on the left was a couch and TV. Further back were bedrooms and bathrooms.

"Alright, Barton, care to explain why you showed up, kid in tow? I thought Steve was back."

"He is back; well, he _was_ back."

"He went with Sam to look for Bucky." Christy said quietly.

Natasha looked slightly friendlier at this. "So, you've met Sam. You like him?"

"Yeah, I like him. He's nice."

"So, let me see," Natasha sighed. "Steve and Sam took off looking for the Winter Soldier. Presumably starting in DC, last place they saw him. So you two show up in D.C. because…"

"Christy didn't want to be too far from Steve, which I can hardly blame her for. I figured I'd be a better choice to go with her than Bruce or Tony."

"So, what, are you two just gonna hang around and wait, or…"

"We're going sightseeing." Christy offered. Natasha rolled her eyes.

" _Bozhe moy_. Were you planning on crashing here then?"

"Only if you're not leaving soon." Clint said.

"And leave the two of you alone? Please. Does Steve know?"

Christy and Clint looked at each other.

"He suspects something…" Clint said.

"Oh, yeah, I'm definitely staying."

"Why?"

"To bail you out when Steve does more than _suspect_ what you're doing!"

Clint grinned. "Great, it's settled! Let's get the luggage, Christy."

Natasha shook her head. Christy patted her arm. "Sorry to barge in, Aunt Tasha."

"No, no, it's honestly fine…I missed you too much, you crazy girl."

"Missed you too."

"Your dad never shut up about you, of course. Are you doing okay, with…everything? I know you bounce back pretty well, but…"

Christy shrugged. "I'm not amazing, but I'm okay. I'll feel better once Dad's back."

Natasha nodded. "I think we all will, sweetheart."

"Christy, come on! You need to get your stuff!" Clint called.

"Coming, Uncle Clint!"

As soon as the luggage was in the apartment, Natasha kicked Clint out to go get dinner. He protested, but she shot him her patented _look_ and he was out the door faster than a speeding bullet.

Christy giggled as the door shut. Natasha turned to face her.

"Alright. Now, how are you really doing?"

Christy cocked her head. "I'll tell you if you tell me."

Natasha almost groaned. Coulson had taught her well; unless you bared your soul, you could forget about Christy baring hers. It was 'the deal.'

"I know Steve goes for that, but you can't expect me to. You don't want to hear it."

"Yes I do." Christy crossed her arms.

"Fine. Then we'll do this on the couch." She sat down. Christy snuggled into her like a cat.

"I'm…worried, and angry." she tried. "And tired."

Christy nodded. "I'm still upset and I miss Dad. I'm scared for him. And I feel bad for him, too. He missed Bucky so much and now he's back, but he's not and it's so sad…" the nine-year-old trailed off. "Oh, and Alexander Pierce should've died slower. The End."

Natasha could barely contain her laughter at the last remark. "You know how he died, right?"

"Yeah, Dad told me. I can't believe he was such a jerk!"

"Try being Fury."

Christy winced. "Poor Uncle Nick." Natasha really couldn't keep from laughing at that.

"I'm still not sure how exactly you get away with that, kid…" Christy shrugged.

"I think he kinda likes it. But, yeah, that's how I feel. I just want my dad but I know he needs to look for Bucky. So I feel bad for wanting him."

Natasha breathed out slowly. "Don't feel guilty, first of all. There's nothing wrong with wanting your dad. Second, don't ever stay alone if you feel alone. There are a lot of people who care about you. I know you and Steve are close, but there are so many people that love you…" She closed her eyes.

"I wished for that, when I was your age. And no, that's not a guilt trip. It's just true."

Christy nodded solemnly. "I promise."

"Good girl." Natasha brushed a stray lock of hair gently back from Christy's face. "Wanna get unpacked? My room has twin beds, so you could go in there, if you want."

Christy nodded. "Okay." She wasn't really picky about where she slept.

"Great. Let's get your stuff." As they got up, Christy eyed Clint's luggage.

"Where's Uncle Clint gonna sleep?"

Natasha smiled her 'Black Widow' smile, an expression that promised trouble. "Oh, we'll make him sleep on the floor."

"Is there only one bedroom?"

"Nope."

Christy laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It was after about two weeks in D.C. that things got interesting. But for a whole glorious fortnight prior, things played out exactly like a normal family vacation. They would sleep late (well, Christy and Clint would sleep late, Natasha always got up early), eat some sort of brunch, and then go out for the day. 

On their seventh day in D.C., Clint took Christy, as promised, to the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian. Christy barely knew what to focus on first, she was so excited. She couldn’t quite get over how small her dad had once been. She had seen pictures, of course, but blurry pictures couldn’t quite convey what video footage could.

“He was so skinny, Uncle Clint!” she said quietly, trying not to draw attention. “But he still looks like Daddy. His eyes are the same.”

Clint was slightly in shock himself. He had seen the occasional picture of Steve pre-serum, but the image was quite a change from the sturdy, muscled man he lived and interacted with on a daily basis. Yet Christy was correct, there was something about the man’s eyes that was the same, even seven decades later.

“You’re right, kid. He still had the same heart.”

“‘Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.’” Christy whispered. She’d always wished she could have met Dr. Erskine. Dad said she would have liked him, because he was like her; finding the good in unlikely people.

The museum had created a replica of Captain America’s WWII-era uniform after the original had “mysteriously disappeared.” Clint just smirked and Christy giggled into her hands, both of them knowing exactly where said uniform was.

It was interesting for both of them to see footage of Peggy Carter as a younger woman. 

“I now know why Steve was so taken with her.” Clint muttered. “I mean, look at her! She’s…”

Christy glared at him slightly. 

“…very attractive?”

Christy nodded. “Uh-huh. And nice.” she sighed. “Boys.”

Clint grinned.

“Best friends since childhood,” the narration recited, “Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes was the only Howling Commando to give his life in service to his country.”

Christ just stood stock-still, watching the looping footage over and over. “But he didn’t.” she whispered, frowning.

On the screen, Bucky and Steve were shown, laughing at some now-forgotten joke.

Clint patted her shoulder. “C’mon kid, let’s go.”

They ate an overpriced lunch in the museum’s cafeteria. Christy poked at her food.

Clint sighed. “Christy, you’ve gotta eat.”

“Can’t. I’m too saagry.” she said, face straight,

“You’re what?”

“Saagry. Sad and angry at the same time.”

Clint rolled his eyes. Trust Christy to come up with a new word to describe what was probably a chaotic mess of feelings inside of her.

“I know, kid. I know. It isn’t right, what happened. But starving yourself isn’t gonna help anyone.”

“He looked so happy, in the video.” Christy continued.

“Who, your dad, or Bucky?”

“Both…it’s not fair.”

Clint smiled sadly. “‘Who says life is fair? Where is that written?’” he quoted softly.

“Well, life should be fair!” Christy’s eyes were getting agitated now, and she was moving around like she was looking for her punching bag.

Clint suddenly groaned. “You didn’t bring your punching bag, did you kid?”

Christy shook her head. “No, I did. Uncle Tony made it special. It…gets small. Com…compresses.”

“Good. ‘Cause I think you’re gonna need it.”

It was moments like these where Christy’s upbringing really shone through. Sometimes, Christy would say something or do something that Clint could easily imagine Lila or Cooper doing.

And other times, it was very clear that Christy was her own special breed.

_Rogers, your kid is crazy._

* * *

One night, the two of them came home to Natasha cooking something in the kitchen.

Clint sniffed the air dramatically. “I think I’m in heaven.”

Natasha turned around and smirked. “Well, one of you needs to come out of paradise long enough to take the trash out. And then, I need help finishing this.”

“Where does the trash go to?” Christy asked. “I’ll take it.”

“Trash bins are behind the building, in the alleyway.” Natasha explained. “Better take your knife.”

“Do I have to…?”

“Yes.”

Christy sighed. “Okay.” She grabbed her knife from the room she’d been sleeping in, and then the trash bags. Natasha kissed her forehead.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

“No problem.” Christy walked out of the building and around to the back alley. There were four large trash bins against the building wall. She pushed open the lid on the one closest to her, grunting a little with the effort. As she dropped the trash in, she heard a scraping sound.

She froze, and then quickly pulled down the lid, reached for her knife, and spun around. 

A disheveled man, wearing dirty jeans, a dark hoodie, and a ball cap stood in front of another trashcan and appeared to be scavenging through it.

Christy slumped down in relief. It was just a homeless person, not HYDRA. She frowned, and peered over at the man. He was moving slowly and mechanically, like he didn’t really know what he was doing.

She knew she wasn’t technically supposed to talk to strangers, but anyone desperate enough to scavenge through a trashcan…

She walked closer to the man, but kept enough distance between them. “Hey, mister.” she called out. “Are you hungry?”

The man looked up with wild eyes, like a cornered dog. Christy shoved her knife in her pocket and spread out her hands, scrunching down as she did. She could hear Aunt Tasha’s voice in her head.

The best way to avoid a fight and calm people down is to not look threatening.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you. My name’s Christy. I’m staying here with my aunt and uncle. I just wanted to know if you wanted something to eat.”

The man relaxed, but only a little. He looked like a coiled spring, tense and wary.

As he put the trashcan lid down, Christy’s eyes suddenly caught a flash of something silver. The man slid his left hand into his pocket, but not before Christy saw that it was not flesh.

Bucky has a metal arm…Dad told me. I’ve only got one chance…

“Are…are you looking for someone, mister?” she asked quietly.

The man—the Soldier—looked at her. “The man on the bridge.” he whispered like a prayer. “I knew him.”

Christy could feel her lips moving up in a smile. “Steve Rogers.” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm.

“Steve…” the man repeated. “Yes, him. I don’t know where he’s gone. I don’t know who I am. But I know I have to find him. Have to…protect him.” He stared at Christy’s face. “You look like him.”

He cringed, as though expecting a blow. But Christy just smiled and said. “A lot of people say that.”

“You know him?”

Christy nodded, slowly. “I’m his daughter. He adopted me. I know him. He’s looking for you.”

The Soldier looked at The Girl, The Girl who reminded him of The Man on the Bridge (Steve?) with her happy, earnest eyes. Shame (at least, he thought it was shame, he was still working on emotions) filled him thick and heavy, like syrup.

“He shouldn’t be looking for me.” he whispered. I don’t deserve it. The Girl shook her head.

“He’ll never stop looking until he finds you. ‘End of the line,’ remember?”

And for a moment, the Soldier did. A rickety apartment stair, suits and sadness and Steve the stubborn punk…

“I…think I do?” he whispered. The girl—Christy (because names were important, a name had broken HYDRA’s hold on his mind, made him remember things from before)—smiled. 

“Yeah, you do. It’s all still in there, I know it. C’mon, come with me.” She held out a hand…and to his surprise, the Soldier reached out and took it. 

The Girl (Christy) smiled again. “Come on. But let me warn my aunt and uncle first.”

The Soldier frowned. He was almost sure that The Man on the Bridge (Steve) didn’t have siblings. But he knew better than to ask unimportant questions.

“They’re not actually my aunt and uncle.” The Gi—Christy!—(There, he almost did it.) explained. “But they’re my Dad’s—Steve’s—friends, so I call them that.”

“Christy?” A women’s voice called out. The Soldier froze.

Natasha was stirring soup on the stove and she’d put Clint to work slicing a loaf of black rye bread. 

Clint looked at her. She looked back. He sighed.

“It’s been ten minutes. Even Christy’s not gonna get held up that long.”

Natasha nodded. She smacked the wooden spoon against the pot’s inner side, and set it on the counter.

“Make sure the soup doesn’t burn. I’ll get her.”

It looked as though Natasha had just walked out the door unarmed, but Clint had known her long enough to know that she probably had about four knives and a pistol hidden in her clothes.

He looked at the pile of bread slices and let out a worried breath.

_She’d better be okay--otherwise I'm crewed…_

* * *

As Natasha came around the side of the building, she heard voices. One of them was definitely Christy’s. The other was low and raspy and probably male. She sighed, worry building up in her chest.

_Christy, come on, you know not to talk to strangers If anything happened to you…_

She rounded the corner and there was Christy alright, holding the hand of a tall, strange man with mangy long hair and an old hoodie.

“Christy?” she called out, trying not to let panic ooze into her voice. And the man froze. 

It wasn’t a normal kind of freezing. It was the freezing of someone who knew they were in trouble no matter what; someone whose life revolved around following orders. Someone who was used to a life filled with possible threats. It had been her brand of freezing once.

And suddenly, Natasha knew. And the panic gave way to slight exasperation.

_Of course she finds the Winter Soldier. No, no, it can’t be Steve and Sam, or me, or Clint, or a trained professional; it’s the nine-year-old child who finds him first. Bozhe moy…_

Christy was trying (and failing) to look calm. Her face was split in her typical mile-long grin. “I found him, Aunt Tasha.”

Natasha really, really wanted to facepalm. Instead, she walked over closer.

“Kid, I swear to God, you have the same self-preservation instincts as your dad, meaning none. What are you doing?!”

Before Christy could come up with a good reply, the man said, in Russian, “I shot you.”

He was staring at her, face scrunched in a concentrated frown. “I shot you.” he repeated, this time in English, his tone…faintly guilty.

“I know.” Natasha replied, in Russian. “But I won’t hurt you.”

The man—The Soldier, it had to be—looked confused. “Why?”

Natasha sighed. “Because I don’t blame guns for injuries, I blame the one who pulls the trigger. You were under orders. I get it.”

“Aunt Tasha, he was digging in the trash can for food!” Christy cried. “I couldn’t leave him alone!”

It was Christy-logic, perfectly sensible Christy-logic. Someone’s in trouble, you help them. Never mind if that someone happens to be a (semi?) brainwashed assassin. 

Natasha figured bringing up that fact wouldn’t score her any points with Christy.

“I never said we were leaving him alone.” she replied. “But come inside, both of you. We were getting worried; it hardly takes ten minutes to throw away trash.”

Christy ducked her head. “Sorry. We got talking.”

“I figured as much.”

Christy was still holding the Soldier’s hand. A tiny part of Natasha’s brain was wondering how on earth that happened, but then again it was Christy.

The Soldier honestly didn’t look much like the man who had attacked them on the bridge and beaten Steve to a pulp on the Helicarrier. He looked dirty and worn-out; like a stray dog that had been wandering for miles trying to find home.

Well, he’d found it now, or at least what could pass for home until Steve could get here.

Natasha checked around the corner of the building. The street was empty.

“Come on.” she said.

They entered the building, the three of them. The Soldier still hadn’t let go of Christy’s hand. As Natasha opened the apartment door, Clint looked up.

“Tasha, is she o…kay?” Clint’s voice trailed off as he took in the disheveled Winter Soldier.

“I take it I need to call Steve now?”

Natasha nodded. “That would probably be wise.”

“On it. The soup’s done, I turned the heat down.” Clint left the room, dialing a number on his phone, and headed into his bedroom.

Glancing after Clint, and then back at the two figures in front of her, Natasha felt a twinge of panic. The man in front of her may not have resembled the fierce Winter Soldier, but brainwashing didn’t disappear in a month and she wasn’t exactly sure what to do until Steve arrived. Frankly, she didn’t even know if Steve knew what to do.

Christy was tugging on the Soldier’s sleeve, which made Natasha want to snatch her up and shove her in a closet. But the man just seemed absolutely…sedated by her.

Probably because he had no grid for what to do with children at this point.

“Do you want food?” Christy asked.

The Soldier just blinked and looked confused.

“You were digging in the trash…are you hungry?” Christy tried again. 

“Ya ne znayu…” The Soldier mumbled. When Christy just stared at him blankly, he repeated, in English, “Don’t understand…”

“Does it hurt, right here?” Christy pressed her hand against her stomach. The Soldier nodded, slowly. “Well, that means you’re hungry. Which means you need food. Come on, sit down here.”

She gently guided the man over to the table and pulled a chair back, motioning for him to sit down. He did. Christy glanced over to where Natasha was still standing in shock.

“So…is dinner ready Aunt Tasha?

Natasha, not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, moved into the kitchen and started dishing up soup.

_Well, Steve won’t be able to say we didn’t feed him._

* * *

Clint sat on his bed and listened to the dial tone go through its cycle of rings. On the third tone, Steve finally picked up.

“Clint? Is something wrong? Is Christy okay?”

“Steve, hey! No, no, Christy’s fine. Uh, listen; remember how, right before you left, you said you knew I was planning something? And that as long as Christy was alright, you would pretend everything was okay?”

“Yes…”

“Well, uh, Christy and I may or may not have followed you to D.C., been crashing with Tasha the past two weeks, and your daughter may or may not have found the Soldier in the alley behind Tasha’s apartment.”

There was dead silence. Clint could hear his heart pounding nervously in his chest.

“You found him?” Steve’s voice sounded choked.

Clint smiled, he had been right. “Yeah, we found him. He’s a little worse for wear, but he seems to have taken a shine to Christy.”

Steve made a half-laugh, half-sob sound. “Bucky always was good with the ladies.”

“Yeah, but somehow, I don’t think his dates were so young. Where are you guys, anyway?”

There was a pause, a crackle of static on the other end.

“We’re, uh, well, we were…a bit outside the city. We’ve been doing some…investigating.”

Clint smirked. “Bust any noses?”

“Yeah, a few.”

“It felt good, huh?”

Steve sighed on the other end. “Yeah…so, we’re back in D.C., though. Been at Sam’s the past couple nights. Which safe house are you in?”

Clint rattled off the coordinates. He could hear Steve say something to Sam in the background.

“Alright, that’s about…forty-five minutes out from us. Will you be alright, until then?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Look, do you two just wanna bring your stuff and crash here for…however long until we leave? I mean, it should be easier to move you two then him…”

“Is there enough room? How big’s the apartment?”

Mentally calculating, Clint replied, “It’s got two rooms with two twin beds and a couch big enough to sleep on. So maybe bring a mattress…?”

“Or Sam could stay home…?” Steve started, but a loud voice in the background made Clint feel that Sam was shooting down that particular idea.

“Look, just bring some blankets and bedding and maybe a mattress if you can fit it. We’ll all pile on the floor like puppies if we have to.” Clint grinned at the mental picture. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, even with the Winter Soldier.

“Alright, will do. We should be there in forty-five minutes….maybe thirty.” There was loud grumbling in the background. “Okay, okay; forty-five! See…see you then.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Steve, I promise.” Clint said firmly. “We’ll work this out.”

“I…I know. Thanks Clint. Tell Nat and Christy I said hi and tell Bucky…tell him I’m coming.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The phone clicked as the connection ended. Clint closed his eyes and silently hoped that he hadn’t just promised Steve the impossible.

* * *

The Soldier didn’t know what to think. It had been a long time since he had eaten food like this, but he knew enough to eat slowly. His handlers had given him nutrient packs and he blurrily remembered needles going in to his arm at various points…and ever since HYDRA’s demise, he’d either ignored the knawing in his stomach or eaten one of the nutrient packs he’d swiped from a deserted HYDRA safe area. That was why the girl’s question had confused him so badly. He’d known what hunger was, but not it’s name

The girl. She sat at the table, across from him, eating and humming something under her breath. Her legs swung under the table. It seemed as though it was impossible for her to sit still, which made the Soldier nervous.

But then, she would catch his eye and look at him with those eyes; his eyes—which made his chest ache with some emotion he still didn’t understand.

The girl had a name, Christy. The woman, Natasha, also had a name. The man in the other room probably had a name as well. Everyone had a name.

Except him. They had called him by descriptions: the Asset, Fist of HYDRA, Soldier. 

But never by a name.

He must have had a name, once. He remembered looking at the museum exhibit, seeing the photo that was both him and not-him. The writing under the photo had called him something, the same thing as The Man on the Bridge—as Steve.

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

He had to know. Was that him?

“What’s my name?” he asked, suddenly.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. But people you like call you Bucky.” Christy said, without any hesitation.

It was the utter surety in her voice that convinced him, above all.

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes…_

_Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?_

_You’ve known me your whole life…_

_I’m with you till the end of the line…_

Words stabbed at his brain, memories that assaulted him with things he almost remembered. He groaned.

“It’s true?” he managed to whisper. It’s true? That was me? That man was me?

The woman, Natasha, nodded. Her eyes were soft with some emotion he’d forgotten the name of. “It’s true.”

The Soldier—no! His name was Bucky!—felt a panic start to build in his gut. If he really was James Buchanan Barnes, if the exhibit was right, if he had once been a good man, a hero…

“Then what the hell did they do to me?” he whispered brokenly. 

He knew, logically enough, that HYDRA had mind-wiped him multiple time. But he had never felt so very violated, at least that he could remember, until now.

Something warm and wet was dripping down his face. Christy stood up and reached for a white, loose sheet out of a small box covered in flowers. Kleenex, his shattered brain supplied.

She sat down in front of him and held the Kleenex up in the air.

“Here, can I…? Your face is all wet.”

Natasha looked frightened. “Christy, no, that’s probably not a good…”

But it was too late. The soft, white Kleenex was ghosting over his face and Bucky could feel himself leaning into the touch, almost without thinking.

Christy drew back, confused. And then, her mouth moved down in something like horror.

Bucky didn’t know what was wrong, but it was probably his fault (it always was, even when it wasn’t—that was one thing HYDRA had taught him).

“I-I’m s-s-orry…” he stammered out, but of course, it wouldn’t help. Apologies never did.

But Christy didn’t yell or backhand him or jeer at him. She just whispered, “They, they didn’t…‘cause they probably hit you, but they didn’t…”

Christy’s mind was flashing back to her days in foster care. Her mom had always been the type to hug or touch her affectionately. With her gone, things had changed. Christy remembered the complete shock of realizing she hadn’t been hugged in almost two weeks; the absolute longing to feel someone’s touch.

She also remembered her dad saying something about how Bucky was always putting his hands on his shoulders or hugging him. So Bucky had once liked hugs as much as she did.

Putting that information together in her mind made her really feel like punching something in the gut.

But that was impossible right now. And she could still hear Uncle Bruce saying _revenge is a terrible gift_ , so Christy did the only thing she could think of that didn’t involve smashing HYDRA.

She reached out; slowly, slowly, until her hand was touching his flesh shoulder. And then, she left it there.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered. “They hurt you pretty bad, huh? I’m sorry…so sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes got wider and wider. He didn’t know what to think. With HYDRA, touch meant punishment. But this felt like the best thing that had ever happened in his life.

He could hear himself making a pathetic noise that sounded like a wounded puppy, but somehow couldn't stop it.

Natasha could feel her jaw dropping and her head began to shake with the sheer madness of it all. 

Clint—thank God—appeared from the bedroom and stood quietly, taking in the scene before him.

“Wow.” Was all he could utter.

“That’s one way of putting it.” Natasha murmured. “Is Steve coming?”

Clint nodded. “He and Sam will be here in less than an hour.”

“Good.” Natasha just kept shaking her head. “I can’t believe it.”

Clint smirked and sat down at the table. Bucky and Christy were lost in their own little world.

“What can’t you believe? That the Winter Soldier is sitting at your dining table or that Christy’s touching him and’s still alive.”

“Both. It’s beautiful and kind of disturbing at the same time.”

“Oh please.” Clint rolled his eyes. “Like your eyes didn’t shoot out of your head when I’d first brought you back to SHIELD and Coulson touched your shoulder.”

“He was gentle.” Natasha whispered, remembering. “Gentle and not looking to do anything more than give me comfort.”

“Exactly.” Clint said, his smirk turning serious. “Look, I don’t think HYDRA’s been too sparing with gentleness for him the past seventy years, so I really don’t care if she touches him or not.”

“But he’s the Winter Soldier.” Natasha hissed. “And she’s just a kid, a crazy kid too much like Steve…”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Clint challenged softly. “Steve’s doing fine. The world could use more people like him. We wouldn’t be in this mess if the world had more people like Steve Rogers.”

Upon hearing Steve’s name, Bucky jerked his head up, taking stock of the other person in the room. 

“I don’t know you.” he said. The words were rough but the tone was one of relief. This was one person he hadn’t hurt.

Clint smiled. “I’m Clint Barton. I’m Natasha’s friend…and Steve’s.”

Bucky tensed. “I need to find him…I know him.” He looked down at Christy, who was still touching his shoulder, with an expression like bewilderment.

Picking up on the glance, Clint asked, “Do you want her to stop?”

Bucky just stared. Want…?

“Is she causing you pain?” Natasha tried.

“Not pain, just…” he trailed off, unable to explain. “Too much.”

Natasha got it. Sure, humans needed touch to thrive and Bucky was clearly touch-starved, but trying to make up for seventy years of touch deprivation in one night was bound to be overwhelming. Plus, Christy was pretty much a complete stranger; non-threatening, but still a stranger.

Christy was listening. At the phrase, “too much,” she let go of Bucky immediately, but looked at Natasha in confusion.

“Take it slow.” Natasha said. “Maybe you can give him a hug later.”

Christy nodded.

“So, Steve should be here soon.” Clint said. Bucky’s eyes turned to saucers.

“He’s coming?” He sounded so childlike.

“Yeah, bud, he’s coming. I talked to him. He told me to tell you that, specifically.”

“I knew him.” Bucky whispered again. “I knew him.” He sounded like a little kid desperate to be taken seriously.

“I believe you.” Clint said firmly. “I know you knew him.”

Bucky’s eyes were frantic. “He said I knew him from another mission, but it wasn’t that. I knew him! I knew him and they wiped me, but…I knew him.”

“Who’s the ‘he’?” Natasha asked, slowly. “Pierce?”

Bucky nodded, still wide-eyed. “He…he slapped me, I think. When I said I knew him…Steve.”

“He hit you?” Came a small, angry voice. Christy was shifting in her chair and thumping her fist in her palm. 

“Yes.” Bucky said, looking nervously at her. Christy stood up, her hands curled into claws. Bucky jerked back, but she stalked right past him and into the kitchen.

“I. Hate. That. Man.” she jerked out the words, slow and painful, hitting the counter for emphasis.

Natasha stood up. “Christy, he’s dead. It’s no good hating dead guys. Trust me.”

“He hurt him!”

“And now you’re scaring him.” Internally, Natasha winced. It was a bit of a low blow, but Christy needed to realize that, with Bucky around, things would have to change a bit. Loud expressions of hatred were at the top of that list of things.

It worked. Like a balloon with all its air let out, Christy drooped and sat down. “Sorry.” she said to Bucky. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just don’t like bullies.”

Those two simple sentences hit Bucky like twin bullets. First, the ‘sorry’. No one ever apologized to him, at least that he could remember.

But the second phrase dragged up a memory from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

_I hate bullies._

Suddenly, there came a knock on the door. Natasha and Clint both slumped forward in relief. Christy’s face split in a grin. Bucky tensed. 

“It’s alright.” said Clint soothingly. “It’s just Steve.”

“Thank God.” Natasha added.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Steve was literally fidgeting in front of the apartment door, waiting for it to open. Sam placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Rogers. You can't go in there charging like a warhorse; you'll scare him."

Steve took a deep breath and tried to still his raging heartbeat. "I know, Sam, I know. I just…I can't believe they found him so fast."

"Yeah, _they_. Aren't you at all concerned about the fact that your kid followed you to D.C.?"

Steve shook his head. "She's been with _Hawkeye_ and the _Black_ _Widow_ all this time, so no, not really."

Sam shrugged and nodded. "Fair point. I wonder what he was _doing_ in this area, anyway?"

Steve was curious, too, a bit. But his main focus was on seeing Bucky, not questioning how he showed up in the alley.

"No idea. Maybe there was a HYDRA base around here. Or maybe it was a coincidence. I'll ask him… _later_."

_Much, much later._

The door swung open. Clint stood grinning in the opening.

"Hey guys, come on in. You got stuff to bring?"

Sam gestured to the mattress propped up on its side between them and the duffels slung over both their arms.

"Just this; you said there were only five places to sleep." Clint nodded and started to help Sam drag the mattress inside.

Steve quietly placed his duffel by the front door. He looked up to see his daughter grinning like an idiot.

"Hey, princess." He scooped her up in a hug, shutting his eyes so he could concentrate on Christy, only Christy, for just one minute. She deserved that much.

"I found him, Dad!" she said happily. "Come see!"

Steve laughed quietly and set her down. "I know you did, baby."

Only then did he open his eyes, which immediately shot like a laser beam to the one person he'd been missing for a long, _long_ time.

"Bucky…" he said, voice almost cracking with suppressed hope.

_Please remember me, remember something,_ _**anything** _ _. Please, whatever you do, don't say what you did on the bridge…_

The Soldier stared at the man before him. His two sides were at war.

_Target: Rogers, Steven. Known as Captain America. Eliminate._

_But I know him…_

_Eliminate._

_But I know him._

_I_ _**know** _ _him._

"I know you." he whispered shakily. "I really do."

Steve almost broke down then and there, so great was his relief. He managed to reach the table and sit down.

"Yeah you know me, Buck. You've known me your whole life. They just…tried to make you forget."

Bucky was staring at him, his eyes filled with confusion and anguish.

"They told me to kill you. That was my mission. But I don't…I can't. I know you."

"HYDRA's gone, Bucky. Pierce is dead. That's not your mission anymore."

Bucky's head was swimming. It was good that Pierce was dead, that he no longer had to kill Steve, but…

He frowned. "If Pierce is dead, then who is my handler?" he asked. "What is my mission?"

Steve gritted his teeth to keep from wincing. "What—what do you mean when you say handler?"

Bucky frowned harder. "A handler, someone who…who protects you, who tells you what to do, who gives you a mission…"

Steve sighed. "I…I won't order you, Bucky. I won't make you _do_ anything. But I swear; I will protect you, with every last part of me. And if that makes me your handler, then, well…?"

"You were my Captain." Bucky could remember that, vaguely, (thanks to the museum exhibit), remember the pride he had felt that Steve, his Steve, was someone the whole country respected. Because Steve was…

"You were my friend." he whispered. A thousand images suddenly ran like fire through his brain.

"You were my brother." Steve added fiercely. "Saving me from fights I was too stupid to stay out of. Being there when no one else was. 'Til the…"

"…end of the line." Bucky finished. Something was finally starting to clear. HYDRA hadn't so much taken his memories as they had suppressed them. They had shoved them down, through pain and electric shock, locking them behind a thick cement wall.

But now the cement was starting to crack.

Steve was crying. He reached out his hand towards Bucky, who at first stiffened. But then, in the same way that he'd known Christy's touch was no threat, he knew that Steve's touch would never harm him.

And he was desperate for touch that didn't harm. He leaned forward and felt Steve's hand press into his face, warm and solid and strong.

"I missed you, Bucky." Steve whispered. "I missed you so much. I thought you were dead! I thought you left me for good! And then, on the bridge, you were suddenly alive again, but when you said 'who the hell's Bucky,' I just…you _scared_ me. I lost you all over again."

"You won't lose me now." Bucky said. "I may not remember everything, but I know how to stay when ordered."

Steve let out a strange, choking sound at that. "No, no…no, Bucky, no more orders, none. I'm… _asking_ you, heck, I'm _begging_ you…please don't go."

Bucky frowned. Asking was different than ordering, he knew that much.

"I'll stay." he said quietly. He didn't add that there was no way he'd ever leave, not now.

What other option did he have, after all?

Steve smiled, but his eyes were still spilling tears. "I, I don't wanna let go of you." he admitted shyly. "I think part of me's afraid you'll disappear if I do. Do you mind…?"

Did he _mind_? Did he _want_? Did he have an _opinion_?

"I can't answer that." he said. "I don't remember how to…do that."

Steve's smile split into sadness.

"He doesn't mind being touched." Christy said quietly. She sat on a chair that was short enough to be under the counter, watching everything with big, solemn eyes. "I don't think they touched him much." she frowned. "Stupid HYDRA."

The way she said it, Steve didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Yeah…stupid HYDRA." he muttered thickly, emotion clogging his vocal chords. He ghosted an experimental touch over Bucky's forehead.

He didn't know which alarmed him more; Bucky leaning in and almost _whining_ in pleasure at the touch…or the heat pouring off his friend's forehead.

"You runnin' a fever, Buck?" he asked, steadily, but loud enough that Sam, Clint, and Natasha (who'd been keeping a respectful distance) looked over.

One more touch was good enough to confirm it.

"Still…functional." Bucky murmured. "Minor damage only."

Up 'till now, Steve had somehow managed to keep his emotions decently in check. That possibly had something to do with the fact that he'd been fighting HYDRA, dealing with the fallout of SHIELD, and making sure his daughter and friends were still sane.

Now, though, he was relatively safe—safe enough to finally allow his mind to try to process the discrepancy between his formerly confident, courageous, protective best friend, and the broken shell of a man that sat before him.

**_Minor damage only_ ** _?! The hell did HYDRA_ _**do** _ _to him?!_

"You're not a machine, Bucky." he said firmly. "And it doesn't matter how 'minor' this is; you're allowed to be sick. I think if you didn't have some kinda serum in your veins, you'd be sick worse."

"Wanna lay him on the couch?" Sam offered.

"Yeah…I think that's a good idea."

Clint shot Natasha a look. The redhead nodded.

"Look, we don't have nearly enough food here for six people, so why don't Clint and I go out and take care of that?" she said.

Steve, Sam, and even Christy picked up on the hidden meaning: _we'll give you guys some space._

Steve nodded. "That's probably a smart idea. Thanks."

Clint smiled. "No problem. Call us if you need help."

"I hope we won't."

Bucky was watching the byplay with the mildly frightened, almost childlike look of someone who was used to being 'talked around.'

Steve noticed said look and frowned, as Clint and Natasha left. "Here, c'mon and lay down, Buck, you look like death warmed over."

He guided his friend over to the couch and coaxed him into a laying-down position.

Christy's eyes were now as big as her head. Sam noticed.

"Hey, kid." he said quietly. Christy's head whipped over. "Wanna come here?" He patted the chair next to him.

Christy nodded and came over. Sam put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I dunno what to do." she whispered.

"Breathing helps."

She smiled. And then frowned. "They hurt him really bad."

Sam sighed. "I know, kid; I know."

"I don't understand. I… _don't understand_." Christy sounded absolutely broken and confused. "Why would people think this" she gestured at Bucky, "is okay? They're nothin' but a bunch 'a stupid _Nazis_!"

Sam was strongly reminded of a quote he'd heard long ago: _"I don't know why, but they did it. They did it tonight and they'll do it again, and when they do…it seems that only children weep."_

Fortunately, on this night, there were more than just children to weep over the tragedy of James Buchanan Barnes.

He sighed. "Because some people will justify a lot of things if they think the end is worth it."

"Nothing's worth this. Nothing in the _world_." Her face was set and stubborn in the dimmed light.

Sam nodded, impressed; although he expected nothing less from Captain America's child.

"No, kid, you're right. Nothing in the world is worth this."

* * *

Steve was worried. He'd finally convinced Bucky to lay down, and covered him with a blanket. But the man was still burning with a slight fever.

Christy had been right; Bucky didn't mind touch at all. In fact, he seemed to be craving it. Steve refused to allow himself to process _that_ development and all its implications, so he just sat on the couch with Bucky's head in his lap, running his fingers through his best friend's tangled, partially matted hair.

"Your hair's a mess, Buck." he said softly. "An absolute mess. Whose bright idea was it to never cut your hair? Surely it would've been easier to keep it short."

He hadn't really meant the question to be answered, but Bucky frowned and whispered. "Assets don't…have control. Handler chooses…things. Not the Asset's place to decide."

Steve could piece together the meaning from Bucky's broken sentences; obviously fragments of something he'd overheard or been told. It was clear that HYDRA had done everything possible to erase choice out of his friend's life. Even in matters as simple as hair length.

"Well, the next time I need a haircut, I am definitely _not_ going to a HYDRA base." Sam muttered. "Obviously, they have terrible hair care skills."

It was a bad joke. A very bad joke. Sam didn't even _have_ enough hair to warrant a cut. But Steve was so drained, even bad jokes were funny. He snorted. Christy cracked a smile.

"A bath might help." Sam continued, more seriously. "Hot water feels good when you're sick."

Steve nodded. "You want a bath, Bucky? Get clean?"

Bucky just stared up at him, his eyes wide and confused.

"You can't…" Sam started.

"I know, Sam!" Steve cried, a little louder than he'd meant. Bucky shifted nervously.

"Shh…" Steve whispered. "Not you, never you. Not your fault."

"You can't say 'want.'" Sam finished. "It doesn't work right now."

Steve sighed. "I know." he whispered. He tried again. "Bucky, would you feel less sick, less… _damaged_ if you were clean?"

There was a pause. Then, "I might."

It was close enough.

"I'll help him." Steve said to Sam. "Will you stay out here and…?" he jerked his head at Christy. Sam nodded.

"I'm okay, Daddy." Christy said softly.

 _Sure you are._ Steve thought grimly. _I'm_ _ **sure**_ _._

He was very certain that his daughter was anything _but_ fine. But all he did was kiss her forehead and whisper, "I love you, baby" as he steered Bucky into one of the bathrooms.

* * *

Christy was still for all of two minutes before getting up and dashing into one of the bedrooms. She returned a few minutes later, carrying a doll and two teddy bears. Sam could see that one of the bears was one of the "Captain AmeriBears," which had been flying off store shelves ever since the Battle of Manhattan two years ago.

She set her toys on the kitchen table, and then started rummaging around in the cabinet.

Sam sighed; clearly Christy was not the type to sit calmly.

"What'cha doin', Christy?" he asked.

"Makin' hot chocolate." she replied. "You want some? I'm gonna make some for me and Dad and maybe…" she looked thoughtful. "Can Bucky have hot chocolate? Will it make him sick?"

Sam shrugged. "I have no idea."

Christy nodded. "I'll make him some, anyway." She bustled around the kitchen, pulling milk out of the fridge and pouring it into four mugs, before adding cocoa powder.

She was trying to cope. Sam could smell the attempt a mile away. She might as well have been screaming "please distract me from the fact that there's a broken ex-assassin in my 'house'!"

He took the hint.

"So it's just gonna be 'Bucky,' huh?" he said. "No 'uncle.'"

Christy frowned. "It was always 'Bucky' in Dad's stories. I didn't even know he was alive until a month ago. And now, I can't ask him if I can call him 'uncle,' like I usually do. He forgot how to want…"

She sounded so _heartbroken_ that Sam felt like running out into the night, finding a HYDRA base, and blowing it sky-high.

Christy suddenly stopped moving and said in a panicked tone, "Sam, I don't feel good. Can your heart come out of your chest? 'Cause it feels like mine will."

Sam jumped up and almost ran into the kitchen. He was not about to let Steve's kid (or any kid) go into emotional shock. That was painful enough to deal with on an adult, let alone a child.

Clearly, the kid was trying to process everything and it was turning into an emotional overload.

He pulled Christy up onto his shoulder. Even through both their clothes, he could feel her heart pounding away like a heavy metal band.

"Alright, c'mere. Let's try to calm down." he said, sitting back down in a chair. "Breathe with me. In…out. In…out. Breathe. Just breathe. Everything's gonna be fine. I promise."

Slowly, Christy's heart rate started to go down.

"That's better. Now," he added, moving back to distractions, "how come I'm not Uncle Sam?"

Christy looked up at him and grinned, slowly. "It's just a little too much. I mean, I know I'm Captain America's kid, but really? Uncle Sam?"

Sam frowned for a minute, and then got the joke.

"Oh… _wow_ …"

"Besides, it'll give Uncle Tony one less bad joke to make when we go back to the Tower."

Sam grinned. "Yeah, I didn't even think about that. Uncle _Sam_ …" he shook his head. "You can keep calling me Sam, no problem, kid."

Christy looked thoughtful. "Some kids call their stepparents by their first name. You can be like a back-up dad."

Sam smiled.

This world he'd found himself thrust into was weird and scary and slightly heartbreaking. But he was starting to realize that it wasn't entirely without its rewards.

"So," he said, picking up one of the stuffed toys off the table, "what's with the bears and the doll?"

Christy grabbed for her toys. "This is Stevie, 'cause he's a Captain AmeriBear. This is Natka, 'cause she's a girl and Aunt Tasha gave her to me. Natka's short for Natasha in Russian. And this is Jamie. He's pretty rare, 'cause they stopped making Bucky Bears after…y'know…" she trailed off. "Anyway, Dad found him online, for my birthday. I sleep with them and they keep me safe."

"Oh…I see. And…one more thing. Deadly assassins keep hot chocolate powder in the cabinet?"

Christy shrugged. "I asked for it. And besides, they're off the clock. And only Aunt Tasha was ever an assassin. Uncle Clint's just really good at shooting stuff."

Sam just shook his head. Oh, yeah, even for all its rewards, this world was still _crazy_.

* * *

Getting Bucky clean turned out to be more complicated than Steve had imagined.

First, it was clearly apparent that although Bucky _theoretically_ knew how to take a shower (or at least knew what one was _for),_ he hadn't taken one in quite a while.

"Well, you must have stayed clean _somehow_." Steve said. It had been seventy years, after all. HYDRA surely wasn't that cruel…or at least they cared enough about health risks.

"They…sprayed me, I think." Bucky's face screwed up in concentration. "With a… thing." He spread his hands out, indicating something long.

"A hose?" Steve guessed miserably.

Bucky nodded. "It was cold. Always cold. Everything was cold."

Second, Bucky looked far too worn out to stand, even for just the length of a shower. So Steve filled up the bathtub with hot water (as hot as he dared) while his friend stripped off his clothes almost mechanically. Actually, not almost. Practically every movement Bucky made was stiff and jerky, like an automaton.

He was covered in dirt and scratches and scars; and to be honest, Steve had been expecting that. But he couldn't help but gasp when he saw the bruises. There weren't many—but even one was too many.

They were still black and blue; recent. And not the kind of bruises one normally got in a fair fight. Bucky had clearly been someone's punching bag a time or ten.

Steve clenched his teeth and tried not to scream. _Dammit, HYDRA; dammit, Pierce…_

Bucky caught the gasp and ducked his head a little; as though he remembered that he ought to be ashamed, but didn't know why.

"It's alright." Steve said softly, getting control of himself. "It's okay. Not your fault. HYDRA's fault. Stupid HYDRA." He finished with Christy's words from earlier, having a feeling that they'd soon become a catch phrase around here.

Fortunately, some shred of memory kicked in once Bucky was actually submerged in water. He was able to wash his body off easily enough, but Steve insisted on helping him wash his hair. He was not taking any chances with lice, dirt, or God-knew-what-else that could be caked in that mop.

"It's warm…" Bucky whispered, more than once. He sounded like a child seeing snow for the first time.

"Yeah, pal." Steve said back each time. "You're never gonna have to be cold again."

By the time they'd finished, and he'd helped Bucky into a pair of his own sweats, Steve was beginning to think he couldn't take much more of this without crying.

Bucky felt a little less burning hot after the bath, but Steve gave him some aspirin anyway, to speed recovery along.

He could hear Sam and Christy out in the living room talking, even with the door shut. From the way Bucky was tilting his head, Steve suspected he could hear them, too.

"Okay, kid, now just sit still and drink that, understand? Or _can_ you even sit still?"

"I can. But where's the fun in that?"

"It'll be fun for me. Now, sit down."

Steve smirked. The conversation felt like a balm on his worn-out heart. He'd missed being around Christy the past few months, especially during the insanity of the last weeks. Her laugh, her smile, her insistent way of looking on the bright side of things…

"She's yours?"

Steve blinked and came back to reality. Bucky was looking at him.

"Yeah, she's mine. I adopted her."

"Why?"

He wasn't exactly sure where Bucky was going with this, but he answered honestly, "Because she was alone. And so was I. Because she needed someone to be with."

Bucky sat on the bed, his head bowed. "I remember things…almost. And then, they go away. I can see you, but nothing else. I know that I was different, once, but I don't know how to get back…" he stopped, and let out a wordless howl of frustration.

"I don't know anything except killing! I'm useless! Why would you even let me stay…?"

_Because the last time you left me, I thought I would die! Because even when I had nothing, I had you! Because…_

Steve sighed. "Because when I said the end of the line, I _meant_ the _end of the line_. We can't go any lower, pal! Only way out is up."

Bucky groaned. "I'm so tired. I just…I'm so tired."

"I think you've earned the right to rest." Steve whispered. Bucky suddenly looked panicked.

"D-don't leave…"

"Never."

"I…I…" Bucky thrust his chin out towards the door. "I can't say it." he added, sounding ashamed.

"Do you want to go out there? With Sam and Christy?"

"I…"

"Just nod. Yes or no."

Bucky nodded. It was a tiny, baby nod; barely more than a slight jerk. But it was a start.

"Come on."

* * *

The walked out to the living room. True to the overheard conversation, Christy was sitting down on the couch, drinking something out of a mug.

When she saw Steve and Bucky, she lurched forward a little.

"Three minutes…do you wanna break it?" Sam asked.

Christy nodded, "Don't care."

"Break what?" Steve asked.

"How long she can sit still. She was running around like crazy earlier and I bet that she couldn't sit still for five minutes. Apparently, I was right."

Christy scowled in Sam's direction. "I made hot chocolate, Daddy."

Steve smiled and accepted the drink as he and Bucky settled down on the couch. "Thanks, baby."

Christy then grabbed another mug off the counter and came back. She looked at Bucky. He studied her just as closely.

"I…this is for you." she said, holding out the drink. "It's hot chocolate. Sweet stuff tastes good when you're sick."

Barely taking his eyes of Christy, Bucky slowly stretched out his hand and grabbed the mug.

"Careful, it's kinda hot. I don't want you to burn your tongue."

Bucky took a sip of the drink. His eyes shot wide in pure bliss and the mug was quickly emptied.

"Chocolate, the cure for all life's woes." Sam quipped.

"Can I hug you?" Christy blurted out.

Bucky looked back up at her as he set the cup down, beads of hot chocolate clinging to his scraggly mustache. "What's that?"

Steve rolled into the couch and let out a strangled sob. Sam came over and sat down beside him.

"A hug is…well, I have to touch you. Is that…alright? I mean, it doesn't hurt. I won't hurt you."

Once again, a tiny, baby nod. Christy wriggled into the space between her dad and Bucky. She wrapped her arms around the ex-assassin's waist and prayed this would do more good than harm.

"You know when Dad says 'I'm with you 'till the end of the line'? That's what hugs mean." she explained softly.

Bucky's eyes were lit up the same as they had been for hot chocolate. Christy took this as a sign that things were going well.

Steve had managed to master his emotions enough to look back over at Bucky.

"I…I used to do this." Bucky whispered. It wasn't quite a statement, but it wasn't a question either.

"Yeah, pal, you did." Steve said, choked. "You were always huggin' on me, messin' up my hair; especially in the winter because it was so…"

"…Cold." Bucky finished, his eyes growing wider. "It was cold. And you were smaller." He looked at Steve carefully. "I used to do…this."

In one fluid motion, he tipped Christy over to his other side. Sam watched closely, ready to intervene if necessary. Bucky didn't seem to be proving any danger, but it was always better safe than sorry. Thankfully, Christy appeared used to being moved around by someone bigger. She patted Bucky's metal arm, and then sat down next to Sam, on Steve's other side.

Slowly, slowly, Bucky lifted his right arm around Steve's shoulders and held it there, tight.

"I remember this…" he whispered. "But you were smaller."

Steve couldn't hold it in anymore. If he could count the times he'd wished to feel Bucky's arm on his shoulders since that terrible day, he would have run out of numbers. He let tears fall down his face, dripping onto his shirt.

They sat, quietly, for a long time, until Christy burst out with a huge yawn.

Bucky flinched, but only a little, and he still kept his arm around Steve's shoulder.

"Bedtime." Steve said, leaning his head down to face Christy.

"How'm I supposed to sleep?" Christy protested.

"You're tired, I know you are." Steve replied firmly. "Go put on pajamas and lay still; your body will calm down."

"Can…can you come sing me a lullaby? I, I know you're busy, but...it's been awhile…"

It had been a while, a _long_ while. Since Christy's nightmares had died down, Steve hadn't been singing her to sleep at night.

Truthfully, Steve didn't want to move even an inch. And he definitely didn't want to leave Bucky alone. But Christy was probably horribly wound up after everything today…

"Go be with your kid, I'll stay with him." Sam said, practically reading his thoughts. "I've counseled enough PTSD victims to survive twenty minutes out here."

Steve nodded and gently moved Bucky's arm off his shoulder. "I have to go put Christy to bed, Buck. I'll be right in there." He pointed to the bedroom door. "Sam's still gonna be here, though. You're not alone. And I'm _right_ in there."

Bucky nodded. Steve swung Christy up on his shoulder.

"Night, Uncle Bucky." she said sleepily.

A tiny smile ghosted across Bucky's face. It was a start.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

As Steve left with Christy, Bucky finally seemed to take stock of Sam for the first time that night. "You had wings." he said.

Sam nodded, wondering where this was going to go.

"I ripped them off…" Bucky sounded almost…afraid. To Sam, that was basically hilarious. He'd seen what the man in front of him could do in a fight. For that man to be afraid of him…it was almost laughable.

And yet, it wasn't. The implications of that were almost too much to dwell on this late. So Sam nodded again and said:

"Yeah, but that was in a fight. And you…weren't exactly yourself."

Bucky looked even more afraid at that. "What else have I done when I wasn't exactly myself? What-what did I do?"

"Hey. Look at me." Sam said gently. "I don't know exactly what all HYDRA made you do. But now is not the time to try and remember. It's late; you're tired and sick. You've had a lot of shocks today; you need sleep."

Bucky ducked his head down. He didn't say no, didn't argue…but it was clear from body language that sleep was the last thing he wanted to do, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Sam let out a sigh. "Why don't you _want_ to sleep?" he asked, carefully emphasizing the word. Maybe hearing the word from another person would convince him that it was all right to voice his wishes.

Bucky frowned. "I…I'll forget again. And I see things now, when I sleep. I didn't before."

Well, that sounded normal, if not desirable. Even he still had night terrors on occasion.

"Before…with HYDRA?" Sam questioned.

"Yes."

Sam sighed again. "I don't know what they did to you, especially since your birth year is 1917…you super soldiers are confusing, man! But whatever they did, that was _not_ sleep. It was…suspended animation, or whatever the heck that file said…anyway, if you sleep now, you won't forget. I can't do anything about nightmares, though."

The man looked even more frightened at that. "Nothing?" he whispered, shakily. "Not even…" he trailed off, but the look in his eye gave Sam a clue as to where he was going with this.

And he was not about to let Bucky so much as entertain the idea.

"Nuh-uh. No. Nada. _Nobody_ is messing with your brain anymore, man. It's a miracle you survived seventy-odd years of that mess! Anymore, and I don't even wanna…"

"But I'm useless! All I can do is kill! You should just wipe me. Start over." Bucky rocked back and forth on the couch, looking anguished. "Wipe. Start over. Easier."

The words, clearly an echo of something uttered by some HYDRA goon, had a creepy, chilling effect on Sam's nerves. Especially 'easier.'

**_Easier_ ** _, I'm sure. Easier to make a man compliant when he can't remember resistance._

"No." he said firmly. "No, no, no, no, no…there's not enough no's in all the world to tell you what's wrong with that! Is that what you really want? Someone playing with your brain all over again? You wanna break Steve's heart? C'mon, tell me!" Sam spread his hands. "I don't bite."

It was a big gamble, admittedly. Sam didn't even think the man would rise to the bait. But the mention of Steve seemed to have both calmed Bucky down and incited something in him.

"I…I…I…" The man trailed off, a kind of desperate hope in his eyes.

Sam nodded encouragingly. _Yeah, yeah, c'mon, you can do it…_

"They called me the Asset, the Fist of HYDRA." Bucky said slowly. "But…an Asset isn't a person. I… I _want_ that. Please. I want _that_. I want _me_. Please…"

He sounded so distraught, like a lost little kid asking how to get home.

Suddenly, Sam understood why Steve spent so much time with a punching bag.

_Too many people to punch and not enough fists. And that was_ _**before** _ _he found out about this. I swear, if we ever find any more HYDRA personnel…they better hope and pray I kill them quickly._

"If that's what you want, then you'll get it." he said firmly. "We're gonna help; Steve and me and Natasha and Clint—even Christy! Nobody said you had to fix yourself. We're gonna get you back."

_Somehow…I hope…_

Bucky nodded, dazed. "I want…" he whispered, looking like a child with a newly-discovered toy.

Sam shut his eyes and counted backwards from ten, determined not to contemplate the implications of _that_ analogy, _again._

_I'm just not gonna let myself think until tomorrow morning…everything always looks better in the morning, anyway…_

Steve came out of the bedroom, rubbing at his eyes.

"She asleep?" Sam asked.

Steve nodded. "Oh, yeah, out like a light. She just needed to stop moving for a minute long enough to remember she was tired."

Sam smirked. "Like father, like daughter."

"Is that an insinuation, Wilson?"

Rolling his eyes, Sam replied, "More like a gentle reminder." He then turned serious. "Steve, you need to sleep. 'Cause I think the last good sleep you had was on _drugs_ , in the _hospital_."

"Duly noted."

"That was me." Bucky said suddenly.

Steve and Sam looked at him curiously. "Whaddya mean, Buck?" Steve asked.

Bucky pointed at Sam. "Me…I talked like that. The way he did…I forgot what it's called."

"Sarcasm? Joking around?" Sam offered.

Bucky frowned, and then suddenly, his face cleared. He looked right at Steve. "Don't…don't do anything stupid until I get back." he said. His voice morphed, making the Brooklyn accent come out stronger.

Before Steve could even process what had happened, he'd replied, "How can I? You're takin' all the stupid with you."

And Bucky actually smiled, tiny and short, but a smile none the less. "Punk." he mumbled, almost bashful.

"Jerk." Steve shot back gently, grinning.

"Okay, I'm clearly out of the loop here…" Sam muttered.

"The first thing, the 'don't do anything stupid,' he said that to me, the night before he shipped out for Europe. He'd dragged me along on a double date to Howard Stark's Future Expo." Steve explained. "You remember any of that, Bucky?"

Bucky shook his head slowly. "It just…it felt right. Like I should say it."

Steve nodded, trying not to let his disappointment migrate to his face.

"It's a start." Sam said firmly, for both their sakes. "He's probably not gonna remember everything overnight. This is a good start. Don't push it."

Steve let out a sigh. "You're right, Sam, I know."

Bucky's face had shifted back into an almost guilty look. "Sorry…" he whispered.

_See,_ _**useless** _ _! I can't remember_ _**anything** _ _!_

"Hey!" Steve touched his shoulder lightly. " _Don't_ …I can see it on your face. It's not your fault. You didn't brainwash yourself! It's all HYDRA's doing. HYDRA's fault; not yours."

And then, out of Bucky's mouth came the last thing any of them expected (including Bucky himself).

"Stupid HYDRA."

Dead silence ruled for half a minute. Bucky's eyes were huge, as though he'd just realized what he'd said.

Finally, Sam grinned. "Yeah…stupid HYDRA."

"No…no punishment?" Bucky asked, hesitantly.

"Never." Steve said, voice strong as steel. "Never again, as long as I live. I swear it!"

Apparently the tone of Steve's statement was enough to convince Bucky, for the man suddenly gained a troublemaker's grin, the barest shadow of his old smirk, and whispered, "Stupid HYDRA."

And Steve laughed. "You said it, pal."

"And now, on that note, you two idiots need to _get to sleep_." Sam said.

"Ok, Ma." Steve joked. "C'mon, Buck, the old man's right. I need sleep, and so do you."

"Thank you…wait, hold up, _old man_! Who you callin' _old_ , Mr. Star-Spangled Man with a Plan? I'm thirty-six; you're _ninety-five!"_

Steve smirked as he and Bucky walked towards the bedroom. "Nope, twenty-eight. Night, old timer."

Behind them, Sam could be heard grumbling something about "smart-alleck super soldiers and their fountain-of-youth serum."

Buck suddenly stopped walking. "The kid…" he said quietly.

"Christy's asleep, Buck." Steve said gently. "In there." He pointed at the other room.

Quietly, with a level of stealth that reminded Steve that his friend had spent the past seven decades as an _assassin_ , Bucky pushed open the bedroom door and walked to the side of Christy's bed.

Steve followed close behind. He could hear Christy's even breathing, see the covers rising and falling.

Bucky moved his hand down and once, twice, very carefully, brushed it over Christy's cheek. "N-night." he whispered.

And fast, fast enough for Steve to even question that the action had occurred, Bucky was back at his side, walking out of the room.

"That…that was right?" he asked. "It felt right. Like I should."

Steve nodded, very determined not to cry. "Yeah, Bucky, it was right."

* * *

Someone (probably Natasha) had placed Steve's duffel in one of the bedrooms. The room was only furnished with the bare minimum—namely, two twin beds with sheets and blankets and a nightstand in the middle. The extra mattress they'd brought from Sam's house had been placed between the beds, with a blanket and pillow on top.

"You can sleep there, Bucky." Steve pointed to the bed that sat in the far corner. Bucky had always felt safer in corners, especially on the run in Europe, and Steve was sure the feeling would only be magnified after everything.

Bucky walked toward the bed like it was a poisonous spider. He was shaking his head.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked.

"T-too high." Bucky whispered. "Like the p-platform."

"The platform for what?" Steve had a sinking feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

"Cryo. Wipe; start over. And then…the cold."

Steve took a few deep breaths, trying desperately to still the rage inside him. Now was not the time to get angry.

He knelt down and thumped the extra mattress. "Well, okay, is this low enough?" Suddenly, an idea hit. He grabbed the mattress off the other bed and plopped it to the floor, pushing the bed frame towards the wall.

"I'll sleep down here, too; just like when we were kids."

Something about that worked, because Bucky walked over and laid down on the other mattress.

"Here, you want…I mean, you can go under the blanket." When Bucky didn't move, Steve gently pulled the cover out from under his friend and settled it over his body.

"I'm gonna get out of these clothes; I'll be right back."

When Steve returned from changing into sweats, he found that Bucky had curled up into almost a ball, with only his head visible above the blanket.

Steve smiled. Bucky had always slept like that; as though he were determined to disappear under his covers. "You still do that, huh?" Switching off the lamp, Steve lay down on his own mattress.

"We used to do this, so much." he whispered. "Pull off the couch cushions and sleep on the floor…in my apartment, and then in that crummy place we got after my Ma died…that place was so terrible. You always thought I was gonna die in the night, 'cause the heat didn't work and I was always sick…"

And suddenly, Steve broke. Because at the back of his mind was still tall, confident, smooth-talking Bucky and before him was a man so stripped of everything…

Because his friend was both back and not-back. And because everything was hurting with an intense ache he hadn't felt since before Christy had entered the picture.

Because what he'd missed all along was not the 1940's, but the person who had always been his support. Waking up wouldn't have been so terrible if Bucky had woken up with him.

"I woke up and you weren't there…and I was alone and I missed you and it was hard— _God_ , it was so hard. It was hard before the plane crashed, but at least I had Peggy, and then I didn't even have her and I was so scared…I woke up and I was so scared…"

He was actually crying, tears soaking into the mattress. It had been a long time since he'd revisited his lonely first days in the 21st century. But seeing Bucky had brought everything back.

His friend was back, but he was broken.

_Dammit, HYDRA; dammit, Pierce; dammit, everything! Can't one thing go right for me?! For us?! Why? Why us? Why…?_

Bucky frowned. Something was wrong, he could tell that much. Steve was upset.

By a knowledge stronger than memory, he knew that if Steve was crying, he was the one who should fix it.

But how? What could he possibly do?

_I…I can't! I don't know how or what…_

But he could remember (and _that_ was something new) how earlier, Steve had sat on the couch and held him and messed with his hair…

_Maybe that could work…if I can._

Slowly, he reached over in the darkness and found Steve's shoulder. Then, he moved the man's body over, until his head was in his lap, the way Steve had held him. He kept his arm around Steve's shoulders and started to rock his body back and forth. He didn't quite know why he was doing this, but it felt right.

It seemed that he would have to go on feeling, until the memories caught up with his instincts.

And then, a flash of memory hit.

_"_ _I had him on the ropes!"_

_"_ _Sure you did…"_

In the memory, Steve was skinny and battered; he was tall, strong, and dressed in a uniform, with his arm looped casually around the smaller man's shoulders. They were in an alley.

_I take care of him…? Yes, that's right. I take care of him. I always did._

He started to move his hand, clumsily, through Steve's short hair, imitating the careful stroke his friend had practiced on him a short few hours before.

Steve finally seemed to realize what was going on, and, gasping and sniffling, raised his head a little. "Bucky?"

"L-lay back down." Bucky said, only stammering a little on the half-order. "This…this is my mission. Was. Always will be. Take…Takin' care of you. I remember now. You were smaller. I had to look after you. That's my mission."

"I…I'm bigger now." Was all Steve could think to say.

"Still had to look after you, when you got bigger. Gonna look after you again, now." The Brooklyn accent was back. "Y'don't…haveta do this alone."

Steve choked out another sob. "I…I know, Buck. You should sleep."

"Right. Sleep." Bucky could feel himself smiling into the darkness. "Both of us. 'Cause I'm here."

Another flash, the same as earlier that day. A rickety apartment stair. He kicked over a brick and grabbed a key.

_"_ _Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own."_

_"_ _Thing is…you don't have to. 'Cause I'm with you till the end of the line, pal."_

"'Till the end of the line." he mumbled. "Is…is this it?"

"Guess so." Steve said, half asleep. "Guess we gotta go back. Or forward. Or find another train. We were gonna go to the future…"

_"_ _Where we goin'?"_

_"_ _To the future!"_

The memory from earlier suddenly got longer. He could see bright lights and feel the push of a crowd.

"Maybe…the future won't be so bad." he whispered, laying back down again and moving Steve's head back to the top of the mattress.

"Not with you…" Steve trailed off. He sounded tired, drained.

With a jolt, Bucky realized that he was tired, too. For the first time since D.C., since _forever_ , he actually had a desire to sleep.

_I…I don't care what I see in my sleep tonight. I'm with Steve. I'm safe. Nothing can hurt me now._

Steve was pressed against his side and the touch felt like the best thing in the world. Bucky shut his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of safety, of closeness.

He'd missed that, he realized. He'd been… _lonely_. That was the word. The name for the dull ache that had sprung up in his heart whenever he'd been out of cryo for a while. That was all that he could remember from those times—not who he'd killed or what he'd done, just a blur of pain and fear and loneliness.

He moaned a bit and dug in closer to Steve.

"M'here." the man mumbled. "Righ' here. Go sleep."

And, for once, Bucky willingly let the oblivion take him.

Five minutes later, the boys from Brooklyn lay fast asleep, dead to the world and reunited at last.

* * *

Sam was starting to think that maybe he ought to be getting to bed himself, when the door to the apartment opened quietly.

Clint entered first, carrying four plastic grocery bags. Natasha came in behind him, bearing a similar load.

"Oh, so you guys actually bought groceries?" Sam asked. "I thought that was just an excuse to get out of the apartment."

The duo set their bags on the kitchen counter and started unloading. Sam stood up to help.

"Well, we weren't kidding when we said there wasn't enough food in this place for six people." Natasha said.

"Yeah, have you seen how much Steve eats?" Clint added, in a fake-griping tone. "And now we've got another super soldier, basically, to feed. And a regular soldier. That requires a lot of food."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks for taking me into consideration. How long are we going to stay here anyway?"

"Some of us were _already_ here…" Natasha mumbled.

"Aww, did we invade your private little spider-nest?" Clint teased.

"Spiders have webs, not nests, you idiot. And yes, you did invade. But it…wasn't entirely unwelcome."

"See, you like us!"

Natasha gave Clint a look of complete exasperation before turning to Sam. "I have no idea. Probably not tomorrow, but even that's up for grabs…"

"Not tomorrow." Clint said firmly. "Let's give our newest… _member_ some time to get his head partially screwed on straight. Then we can go."

Sam nodded. "I agree. Stark Tower was overwhelming for _me_ , and I'm pretty much normal. For _him_ …"

"And let's not even talk about the man who _owns_ Stark Tower." Natasha said. "That's either gonna go over really well or really terribly. And it will probably involve Steve losing it before all's said and done."

 _"_ _No, Tony, you can't experiment with his arm!"_ Sam joked, trying to mimic Steve's special exasperated tone that was generally reserved for Tony Stark.

"Bruce might be able to help, though." Clint offered.

"He's not that kind of doctor." Natasha replied, almost at once.

"Yeah, yeah, not officially, but he is pretty good with… chemistry and disease stuff."

"'Chemistry and disease stuff?'" Natasha looked highly unimpressed. Clint threw up his hands.

"Hey, I dropped out of school to join the circus, go easy on me!"

Sam shook his head. "That's it; I've officially heard everything. You were in a circus?"

Clint drew himself up with false hauteur. "Yup. Count yourself lucky, my friend. You have the privilege of speaking to The Amazing Hawkeye, the World's Greatest Marksman!"

"And the world's biggest dork." Natasha added under her breath. Clint huffed.

"I can't catch a break with you, can I?"

Natasha smirked. "Not on your life, Barton. Is everyone else asleep?"

Sam nodded. "Christy's long since out, and the Brooklyn Boys headed into the other bedroom about half an hour ago. I think they finally nodded off; it's been pretty quiet."

Natasha looked satisfied. "Good. I wouldn't think Steve's been sleeping." Sam just shook his head.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know. I told him that the last decent sleep he'd gotten was in the hospital hopped up on drugs a _month_ ago. And I really don't think he's slept, _period_ , for almost the past week. Serum or no serum, that's just not healthy!"

Clint sighed. "Knowing Steve, that's probably true. He thinks he's invincible, sometimes."

Natasha stretched. "Well, I'm gonna go check on Christy and get some sleep. Night, boys."

As she disappeared into the other room, Clint turned to Sam. "So…have you given a thought to where you're gonna sleep tonight?"

With a jolt, Sam realized that the only available beds were now the couch, the floor…or in Steve and Bucky's room.

"I'll just…go in the bedroom, I guess."

Clint shook his head. "Nah, I'll go in there. No offense, but I'd be willing to bet I'm slightly better at stealth than you."

"No, I'd back you on that bet." Sam sighed. "He's a mess."

There was no doubt as to who he was referring to.

"Yeah, just a bit." Clint muttered. "But, I mean, I've seen brainwashing get undone before. Exhibit A just went in the bedroom."

Sam filed that little tidbit away for future reference. "But, I mean, this is really bad. The guy can barely say if he wants something or not, cringes like an abused puppy if you so much as raise your voice, can't remember seventy-five to eighty percent of his life…" he shook his head. "It's _possible_ for him to get back to at least a stable place, if not back to normal. But it's gonna take some work."

Clint shrugged. "Normal…what is that, anyway? We've all got our hang-ups. Some of us more than others. And we somehow managed to rehabilitate the freaking _god of lies_. That's gotta count for something."

Sam grinned. "Yeah…Steve told me about that one."

"Besides…Steve deserves this. He lost everything and everyone when he woke up." Clint shook his head. "Fury told me about the day he woke up…I wished I could have been there, maybe I could have calmed him down better. Or maybe I couldn't have calmed him down at all. But it's just… he ran out of the SHIELD base straight into _Times Square_ , of all places!"

Sam winced. "That _had_ to have been rough."

Clint sighed. "No kidding. So even if it does take some work, Steve deserves all the effort we can give. And then there's the other side…having your entire personality and autonomy taken away, remembering practically nothing…at least with the whole Tesseract thing, I still was mostly me. This…this is just evil. In every sense of the word."

"Stupid HYDRA." Sam muttered, grinning as he remembered earlier.

Clint smirked. "Lemme guess—Christy?"

"Yup. All the way. And then Steve borrowed it."

"Works for me. Sorta…encapsulates the whole situation. And doesn't break the 'no-cussing' rule."

"There's a 'no-cussing' rule?"

"With a nine-year-old in the Tower? Oh, yeah, there's a no cussing rule. Unless she's out of the room and far, far away."

"Oh. Yeah, that explains things."

Clint grinned. "Still sorry you fell in with a bunch of lunatics in costumes?"

Sam just grinned back. "Nope, not at all. But your world is still crazy."

"Oh, we know. And we wouldn't have it any other way." Clint clapped him on the shoulder as he put the last of the groceries in the fridge. "So…are you coming back to New York? I mean, didn't you say something about working at the VA here in D.C.?"

Sam shrugged. "They have a VA in New York…and they're always looking for trained counselors. Besides, I think I'm gonna have my work cut out for me the next few months."

"Still, you are basically picking up and leaving everything. That's a little…abrupt."

"Hey, when Captain America and a scary woman in black show up at your door saying everyone they know is trying to kill them and drag you along for the ride…you don't really ask questions. You just kinda go with it."

Clint let out a barking laugh that he immediately tried to stifle. "Steve said everyone they knew was trying to kill them?"

"No, that was Natasha. Steve was the one apologizing for showing up uninvited and all that."

"I can imagine it now." Clint grinned. "That sounds hilarious. I wish I could've been there."

"Well, you might wanna be glad you weren't. Things got real hairy after that. But anyway, I'm still a soldier at heart. I don't mind movin' around; I go where I'm needed. And right now, it looks like I'm needed here."

Clint sighed. "Looks like you and I are gonna be the only sane men for this round of things. Steve's way too emotionally invested and Natasha's still battling a few demons after this whole mess, and Barnes _-Bucky?"_ Clint paused. "You gonna call him that?"

"Steve does. He answers to it fast enough. And…it is his name."

Clint nodded. "Bucky, then. He's gonna need all the help he can get." He stuck out his hand. "So it's you and me for now, until we hit the Tower again."

Sam shook the offered hand. "To being mostly sane."

"Mostly sane." Clint turned around. "I'mma hit the sack. See you in the morning, Wilson."

"Night."

Quietly, Clint opened the far bedroom door and snuck in. Sam grabbed his duffel off the floor and changed into sweats.

_Yeah, I joined the crazy train, all right. But I'm gonna ride it 'till the end of the line._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Bucky woke up in a tangle of limbs, disoriented. He jerked back and up, before noticing the person next to him.

Steve woke up in the same moment and swiftly took in Bucky's unsettled expression.

"Hey, hey, Bucky; it's me, pal, it's Steve. Calm down and think. You remember last night?"

'Calm down and think' was enough of an order that Bucky obeyed instantly. He slowed his breathing and concentrated on the man's face.

And then, the last night roared back in a sudden, orderly flash; completely different than the resurgence of his other memories.

"S-Steve." he whispered.

Steve relaxed. "Yeah, pal, it's me. I'm here."

Bucky sat for a moment, head tilted.

"I…I remember last night." he said finally, confused. "I remember everything."

Steve nodded. "That's good, you should remember last night. Nobody's been messing with your brain, so you should be able to form and keep new memories."

Bucky's brow furrowed as he processed this development. "No more forgetting?"

"Well, I'm no doctor, but as far as I know…no, no more forgetting, Buck."

_No more forgetting…no more pain…no more orders…_

Everything was going to be different now, Bucky knew it. And everything he did would have to change…

The overwhelming newness of it all suddenly sucker-punched him in the gut. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to breathe steadily.

Steve noticed the tension building in his friend's eyes and frowned. "Hey…what's wrong, Bucky? It's gonna be fine, I swear."

"T-too much." Bucky could feel his body start to rock back and forth. "Everything's different…too much and I can't breathe…"

"Yes, you can." Steve said softly, firmly. "You can breathe. Just take one breath—for me. In, out."

Bucky let out a shaky exhale, and dropped his head.

_Pathetic, useless; can't even breathe right! He won't want you, you'll see. When you outlive your usefulness…_

"Ignore the voice in your head that tells you you'll never survive and you don't matter." Steve said suddenly.

Bucky's head shot up. "H-how…?"

"Same thing would happen to me, after I woke up. Little voice at the back of my mind sayin' I was worthless and no good and shouldn't be alive. I finally realized that if I wouldn't take that from an actual person in front of me, I shouldn't take it from a voice in my head."

Bucky let out one more slow, shaky breath. "How do you make it go away?"

Steve sighed. "By telling it to shut up. By listening to the people that actually care about you, and hearing what they think. By knowing the truth."

_Truth…?_

"Then who am I; what am I?" Bucky asked suddenly.

Steve grabbed his shoulder gently and pulled him against his chest.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Your birthday is April 12, 1917; one year and four months before mine. You are a soldier, a good man; a hero. And you are and always will be my friend."

Steve's gripped him just a fraction tighter and whispered:

"Now, tell _that_ to the voice!"

Bucky breathed in and out again.

_James Buchanan Barnes…hero…friend…that's me._ _**That's me.** _ _So take_ _**that** _ _!_

"I was gonna go out, to the other room." Steve said slowly. "Do you…would you come with me?"

Bucky frowned. The way Steve spoke was so strange, so different than what was familiar. He was used to 'you will do this' and 'you will go here,' not 'would you?' or, worse, 'do you want?'"

Those were _hard_ questions, questions he had to think about.

It seemed that being a person took a lot more effort than being a machine.

"Everyone out there, I'd trust with my life. They would never hurt you." Steve's voice hardened a fraction. "I wouldn't _let_ them. And…you can't hide in here forever, pal."

Steve was right. He couldn't hide forever. And, whatever else he'd been called, it had never been a coward, not even by HYDRA.

"O-okay." Bucky stood up. "I will."

Steve blinked. "Great. C'mon, then."

* * *

The pair exited the bedroom into the domestic bliss of the living room and kitchen area.

(If, by 'domestic bliss' one meant Natasha and Clint arguing over which blend of coffee to make while Sam looked on in faint bemusement and Christy sat drinking hot chocolate like this was completely normal.)

(Which, it was.)

Everyone looked over as the door squeaked open and shut, though.

"Well, well; look who's finally awake." Clint crowed.

"Surprised to see you among the living, Barton." Steve shot back. "Aren't you usually dead to the world until nine in the morning, unless you have to be up?"

"I am, but check the clock, Rogers."

Steve glanced at the clock on the stove, and almost gaped in shock.

9:30 a.m.

"Nine-thirty?" he muttered in disbelief.

"Told you that you needed sleep." Sam added. "Clint said that _you two_ were the ones dead to the world when he got up this morning."

Bucky looked from Steve to Sam to Clint, clearly trying to figure out if something was wrong or not.

"It's okay." Steve assured him quietly. "It's a joke. Clint normally sleeps for a long time, if he can. And I usually wake up earlier. Today, we switched. It's funny."

Bucky nodded, still puzzled, but assured that there was no threat to Steve.

"Man, we gotta get his humor back!" Clint muttered as Steve steered Bucky over into a seat at the table.

"I _know_." Steve replied. "He used to be as sarcastic as any of us!"

"Morning, Dad." Christy sing-songed, giving him a hug. Steve grinned and hugged her back.

"Morning, baby. You sleep okay?"

Christy nodded and turned to where Bucky had sat down. "Hi, Uncle Bucky." she mumbled, almost shy. "Can-can I call you that?"

Bucky fixed his eyes on the thin, blonde girl. "Call me what?" he asked back. For some reason, it didn't feel as scary asking questions and speaking to her.

"Can I call you 'uncle'? I call most of the Avengers and anybody close to Dad, anybody that's a guy, I mean, uncle. It's like saying you're Dad's brother…"

"I know what 'uncle' means!"

Christy's eyebrows shot up. Bucky drew back, shocked, and put his hands up as if to ward off a blow.

"S-s-sorry…"

Christy immediately shook her head. "No, no, it's okay; I'm not mad, promise! It's just…I didn't know. I mean, you forgot Dad, so…"

Bucky sighed. How on earth to explain-especially when he barely understood himself.

"I know…facts." he said. "Facts, dates; for targets. But not _me_. I don't remember…personal things. Well, some things, I remember now; but not a lot…"

As he talked, his diction grew smoother and less choppy, as his tongue relaxed into the rhythms of speech.

Christy nodded. "Okay. So…can I call you Uncle Bucky?"

It was another one of those hard 'if you want' questions. But, coming from the kid, it wasn't so hard.

"Yes."

Christy beamed. "Okay! Yay!" she suddenly looked serious. "Well, I guess anything's better than 'the Asset'."

A terrible look suddenly graced her sweet features.

"Asset, hah! Stupid HYDRA! Like to smash in their faces and see how _they_ like being pushed around…" She jumped up and threw out her hands dramatically, eyes flashing like stars.

"I mean, c'mon, 'the _Asset'_? You're not an Asset, you're a person!" She spun around, punching the air like the faces of her worst enemies.

Bucky's eyes were wide, wide at the display, unsure what exactly to think. He felt Steve come up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"That's the other thing you are." Steve whispered. "A person. Human. Not a machine." He scoffed, faintly bitter. "Don't care what they said. You're a person."

He turned to his daughter. "Christy, we'll plot HYDRA's downfall another day, but I need you to sit down, okay?"

Christy frowned. "O- _kay_!" She plopped into the chair beside Bucky and took a long swallow of hot chocolate. Steve grinned fondly.

"Good girl."

"So…what's the game plan for today, boys?" Natasha asked, sitting down with a mug of coffee. "Head back to tower sweet tower?"

Steve snorted, sitting at the head of the table, beside Bucky. "Well, I wouldn't mind that. Just…one thing. Actually, two things."

"A few days for him to get his head on straight." Clint guessed.

Steve nodded. "Yes. And…I'd like to try to ferret out any last HYDRA bases in the city. We got to a few, but I know there's some others in the city itself…"

"The bank." Bucky said quietly. Steve turned towards him instantly.

"Bank? What bank, Bucky?"

"There was a HYDRA base, a rendezvous point." Bucky said, suddenly aware of the eyes on him. "In a bank. I remember it. I went there, after…the bridge."

"Could you take us there?" Sam asked. Bucky nodded immediately and moved to stand up.

"Now?"

"No, no, not now." Steve said firmly, placing his hand on Bucky's arm. "After you've eaten and slept and I know you won't fall over. Then you can take us."

"I…I wouldn't…"

Natasha suddenly rattled off something in Russian, soothing but authoritative.

Bucky frowned, and replied in the same language. Natasha shook her head and repeated something similar to what she'd said first.

"What's that mean?" Christy asked.

Natasha sighed. "I said that he doesn't have to push himself and he doesn't have to prove his usefulness all the time."

Clint gave a sad smirk. "Ah, hearkening back to the good old days, after I brought you in from the storm."

Natasha rolled her eyes, though she looked faintly embarrassed. "Shut it, Clint."

"Buck, you're staying with me." Steve assured his friend. "If you can help us, great, but your biggest… _mission_ right now is to get better. Learn how to think for yourself. Rest and heal…" Suddenly, Steve's face morphed into horror. "When's the last time you ate anything?"

Bucky blinked. "Last…night…"

"He had some soup last night, mostly broth, and ate a full bowl." Natasha added. "What, did you think we'd let him starve?"

Steve sighed. "No…I didn't. And…thanks, Natasha."

She gave Steve a gentle shove. "No problem."

"Can we eat breakfast now, though?" Christy asked. "I'm hungry."

Steve nodded. "On it. Scrambled eggs okay?"

Everyone but Bucky nodded. Natasha got up, too. "I'll make bacon."

"Pancakes?" Christy asked hopefully.

"You want 'em, you make 'em." Natasha replied. "Mix is in the cabinet."

After a moment's hesitation, Christy got up.

"Bucky?" Clint asked softly, figuring that starting with the man's name would make things sound less like an interrogation. "Do you know any other bases in D.C. besides that one you said?"

Bucky, who'd looked startled at hearing his name from someone not Steve, nodded slowly. "Map?" he asked.

Clint pulled up a map of D.C. on his tablet and set it down on the table.

Bucky pointed out a few locations, most of which Steve and Sam had been to, or Clint knew had been ferreted out.

"Looks like it's just the bank, then." Sam said, shaking his head. "A _bank_ , of all places! Seriously, these guys are like insects; they're everywhere!"

"It was a rendezvous point." Bucky said, eyes down.

"For you?" Clint questioned gently. Bucky nodded.

"Well, then it oughta be abandoned. That's good."

Sam smirked. "Seems a shame. I was _really_ looking forward to bashing in a few skulls."

"I wanna bash some skulls!" Christy cried. "I wanna hunt down every last HYDRA base in the world!"

"Stop plotting the downfall of rogue organizations and mix the pancake batter." Natasha ordered calmly.

Christy glowered slightly, but complied, though not before shooting Bucky a smile and mouthing 'Stupid HYDRA.'

Bucky could feel himself smiling back.

* * *

True to Steve's request, they waited a few days, until Bucky had eaten a few good meals and slept enough that he lost a bit of the dazed, tired air that had hung about him.

Finally, almost four days after finding Bucky, they all agreed that they were more than ready to head back to New York. They decided to check around the HYDRA base that day, and leave the next morning.

"We'll just go in, take a look around." Steve said that morning. "See if they left anything useful. Or anything to burn."

Christy looked particularly excited about that. "Can I come?"

One word shot out from four different mouths:

"No!"

Christy pouted, slightly. "But Uncle Clint said…"

Clint threw up his hands. "Oh, no, don't drag me into this, kid. I only said it _oughta_ be abandoned, not that it is!"

"But I know how to fight!"

"We'll make it a girl's day." Natasha said quickly, sensing how this was going and not desiring to see it turn into a full-blooded argument.

Christy nodded, still not looking happy. "But you wanna go too, Aunt Tasha!"

Clint suddenly stepped in. "No, you go with them, Tasha. I'm gonna take her somewhere else, somewhere she asked to go, like, at least three weeks ago."

Christy looked horribly confused for a moment…and then her face lit up.

"Yes! Thank you, Uncle Clint!"

Steve looked relieved that this wasn't going to turn into an argument. "Okay, so it'll just be four of us. Probably better."

Clint nodded. "Yeah, four is less inconspicuous. You guys go on, check it out. We'll meet back here later."

* * *

A few hours later, Clint and Christy had driven down into the city, parked (finally) and walked to their destination.

Christy stared up at the tall, imposing building that read:

_United States Holocaust Memorial Museum._

"You really up for this, kiddo?" Clint asked softly.

Christy squared her shoulders and nodded.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

* * *

Bucky led Steve, Sam and Natasha to the HYDRA base. Sure enough, Clint's guesswork had been accurate.

"This place looks like the apocalypse swept through." Sam muttered.

They all poked around at the deserted equipment and tools. Natasha scoured every available open safe for any old files or flash drives.

Suddenly, Sam bent down and picked up a set of black goggles and a face mask from the ground.

Immediately, Bucky shrank back and let out an involuntary whimper. Steve instantly flew over.

Sam dropped the mask and goggles to the ground with a clatter. "Easy…" he murmured. "No one's asking you to wear it. Never again."

Bucky slowly walked toward the mask and picked it up gingerly, turning it inside out so that the part that would have been against his skin was displayed.

Steve let out a gasp.

The part of the mask that would cover a person's mouth contained a piece of stiff leather that looked almost like a gag. It would be a heavy barrier against talking, or noise of any kind.

Sure enough, Bucky whispered, "No talking. No noise. C-compliance."

Steve winced. "They…made you wear this for missions?"

Bucky nodded.

" _More_ than just for missions? For…punishment?"

Bucky nodded again.

Sam was now looking angry beyond belief. "Oh, yeah, we're burning that. We're definitely burning that!"

"Might wanna extend the bonfire, boys." Natasha's voice came from the room next to them. She held up a mouthpiece and stood next to what looked like a dentist chair from hell.

Bucky flinched back and then quietly walked over and sat down in the chair, leaning back. He opened his mouth solemnly.

Natasha _threw_ the mouthpiece so fast, it flew like a missile.

"No! _Nyet! Ya ne sobirayus' etogo delat'! Vstavay! Pozhaluysta…"_

"What's that chair for, Buck?" Steve asked, more sharply than he wanted.

Bucky, who had stood up immediately at Natasha's tone, closed his eyes.

"Wipe…start over…b-been out of cryo t-too long. P-punishment…but I _knew_ him…" Bucky slid down against the wall, hugging himself.

A wild light shone in Steve's eyes, like all the righteous anger in the world was lending him power. He picked up the mouthpiece from where it had landed and threw it even further away. He then stalked over and pulled Bucky up in an embrace.

"Never again, _never again_ , I swear, on my life, never again. No more wipe, no more cryo, no more punishment. And yeah, you _do_ know me."

Sam let out a long sigh. "So…we can't haul this thing back and have a bonfire, unfortunately. Guess we have to destroy it here."

Bucky looked up at Sam, interested.

Sam grinned suggestively. "Wanna destroy the chair? Have a fire?"

Bucky thought for a moment and then nodded enthusiastically. "Explosives…" he muttered. "They should have some here."

"Sounds _fine_ to me." Sam said. Steve nodded, a feral gleam in his eyes.

"I don't suppose I could punch it…"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You sound like Christy. And you know that, serum or no serum, you can't punch metal!"

Bucky went to a box the others hadn't investigated yet, and opened it to reveal a mess of explosives.

Sam blinked. "Perfect. This is gonna be just like the A-Team."

"The _what_?" Steve asked.

"You haven't seen that one yet? Oh, man, put it on your list! It was this great TV show from the eighties; stuff blowing up and bad guys getting thwarted, all in under an hour! It's gold!"

Steve grinned at Sam's palpable enthusiasm. "I'll put it on the list."

"Screw that, I'll make sure you watch it myself! Now, what's in here…?"

* * *

Clint was sure that Steve would kill him if Christy came out of this museum scarred for life. She was very, very quiet throughout the top three floors of the museum, so quiet that Clint had to ask if she was all right on multiple occasions.

She was drinking everything in, like her brain was taking a thousand notes in ways that only she would know and remember.

Eventually, when they reached the part of the museum that discussed those who fought back; helping those persecuted and resisting the Nazis, Christy seemed to gain back her energy.

"I wanna be brave and do something big like this, someday." she whispered.

Clint smiled. "You will. But, y'know, it's the little things that count, too. Like staying who you are when everyone else tells you to change."

Christy frowned. "What's _that_ do?"

"It tells people like _them_ that you won't be controlled. That you'll stand up for what's right, even when it hurts. People like you…you're HYDRA's worst nightmare."

Slowly, a grin stretched over Christy's face. "HYDRA's worst nightmare…just by being me?"

"Just by being you." Clint assured her.

"I…I can do that."

* * *

"Oh, yeah, this was definitely a good choice." Sam said, as they sped away in their car, enjoying the sound of booming explosives in the distance. "'I love it when a plan comes together…'"

Steve and Natasha had grabbed anything that looked remotely useful out of the hideout, including a tablet, a few old files, extra explosives and ammo, and some other odds and ends. Bucky and Sam had set the explosives up, which had the added side benefit of Bucky becoming more relaxed around Sam.

"And now, we ride off into the sunset…" Natasha joked, turning up the street. "So, who's up for dinner?"

"Burgers?" Steve offered. Bucky's head whipped over and started nodding, furiously.

Everyone looked surprised.

"You want burgers, Bucky?" Steve asked, half in shock.

"Y-yes. I think I remember those." Bucky's eyes were bright and almost feverish. "They were good…" he mumbled.

Steve looked like someone had handed him a million dollars.

"Five Guys, please." Sam said firmly. "We gotta go there."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "There's one close by, I think."

* * *

By the time everyone arrived back at the apartment, it was late. They all ate ravenously, although half the time, Steve neglected his own meal in favor of watching Bucky.

It was so good to see him eat, really eat.

"So, we leave in the morning?" Clint asked.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, sounds fine. You doin' okay, baby?" he asked Christy. She'd told him where she and Clint had gone.

He hadn't been thrilled; though that was mostly because he'd wanted to be the one to take her, but he was all right with it.

Christy nodded. "Just tired. It's a big museum."

Steve looked relieved. "All right."

"Brought you a souvenir." Natasha added, sliding something across the table. They'd kept the Winter Soldier mask and goggles, with Bucky's permission, with the sole intent of burning it back at Avengers Tower.

Christy glanced over the items and frowned. "Was this the mask thing…?"

Steve nodded.

Christy grinned, an almost exact copy of Steve's feral one from earlier. "This'll be good for roasting marshmallows."

Sam snorted. "We also blew up the mind-wipe chair."

"Aww! I wanted to do that!"

"Be glad we brought you the mask." Natasha said.

"I am! But…" Christy sighed. "It's okay."

And for the moment, everything _was_ okay. There was a lot of mountains still yet to be scaled…but for now, they ate and laughed, and enjoyed the brief valley.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

They all left D.C. that next morning, the sky clear and the air humid. Natasha and Clint were in one vehicle and Steve, Sam, Christy, and Bucky were in the other.

"Front seat or back; pick one, Buck." Steve said as they stood in front of the car, getting ready to leave.

It had been Sam's idea; letting Bucky get used to making choices by giving him a few options to pick between on even minor things.

Bucky frowned and gazed at the car, trying to work out the safest position tactically to be in.

Christy came skidding up. "Sit with me, Uncle Bucky!" she cried, tapping his metal arm.

"Christy, remember what Sam said…" Steve chided softly.

"Oh, right! Uh, I mean, if you want…if you…ugh!" Christy made a frustrated grimace. Steve couldn't quite blame her; it was hard coming up for alternatives to 'if you want'. It was a fairly integral part of conversation that showed respect for another's choices, after all.

But it was rough when someone's choices _hadn't_ been respected for so very, very long; trying to figure out a way to convey respect without saying it and confusing the heck out of said someone.

Christy opened the right-side back door. "Well, I'm back here; in case you were curious. You decide."

She shut the door. Bucky let out a barely audible whimper.

'You decide,' was quickly becoming the scariest sentence _ever_ , at least in his mind. Mostly because at the back of his head was still that nagging fear that he would choose wrong, and be punished.

He _knew_ that Steve would never hurt him, would _die_ before he'd let anyone so much as pull out a piece of his hair. But it was _hard_ to lose the training, lose the indoctrination, lose what had essentially been his _life_ for so long…

He turned to Steve. "She…wants me to sit with her, in the back."

Steve nodded. "But she won't be mad if you say no. I promise."

"Why?"

"Because she knows that's a ridiculous thing to get mad over and she likes Sam just as well as you…"

"No, I mean…why does she… _like_ me?"

Steve shut his eyes and, taking a page from Sam's book, slowly counted backwards from ten in his mind.

"Most people generally did." he said finally. "I mean, granted, you're not exactly the ball of charisma ya used to be, but…I'd say you're still pretty likeable." he sighed. "At the very least, people'll feel sorry for you. But Christy…well, to her, you're still the hero from my stories. The fact that you got messed with just makes her more determined to get you back. She wants to see you get fixed. Aside from that…well, you'll just have to ask her yourself."

Bucky _stared_ , desperately trying to process everything.

Being liked, now _that_ was something new. He'd spent the last seven decades being loathed, feared, hated, disdained, grudgingly appreciated (the way one does a particularly useful tool), _possibly_ pitied…

But definitely _not_ liked.

People didn't make friends with guns, after all.

"She likes me?" he said.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, pal, she likes ya. It's why she goes nuts every time someone mentions HYDRA. She's mad 'cause they hurt you."

"Like you." Bucky had been a _bit_ out of it lately, but he _wasn't_ blind.

Steve sighed. "Yeah…like me. So, front or back?"

Bucky groaned, looked over the car one last time…and walked toward the back, yanking open the door.

Steve smiled and went around to the driver's seat, listening to Christy's very audible squeals.

"Yay! I get Uncle Bucky!"

Sam came out of the apartment. "You ready to head out?"

Steve nodded. "Yup, all set. Let's get outta here."

And so, they drove off, leaving the apartment building behind for good.

* * *

Bucky leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.

He was fine sitting still, watching the road, watching the others in the car. Christy, on the other hand, was clearly _not_ fine. She moved around restlessly for a good half-hour.

Finally, she seemed to give up and decided to lie down on the seat for a nap.

She plopped her pillow in the space between them and looked over.

"Can…can my head touch your leg? Is that okay?"

Bucky nodded, confused…and then he got it.

"Let's try this." he said quietly. He moved the pillow onto his lap.

Christy beamed and lay down, snuggling her head into his lower chest area. Ten minutes later, she was out.

Bucky just stared and stared, watching her tiny body rise and fall, thinking about what Steve had said earlier.

_"_ _She likes you…"_

He still had no idea _why_.

_I'm a_ _**gun** _ _, an_ _**assassin** _ _! I've killed people! And she's…asleep. On me. She_ _**trusts** _ _me!_

He lay back against the seat once more and closed his eyes as the same warm wetness ( _tears_ , he'd remembered) from the first night he'd been found streamed down his face.

 _Please…_ he thought blankly, not really sure who he was addressing. _I don't understand. She likes me. She shouldn't. But I wanna be…_ ** _worth it_** _. Please, I wanna be worth it…_

_I wanna be worth it…_

* * *

Tony glanced down at his phone. "Text from Barton." he called out to Bruce, who was working several feet away. "Says they'll be here in a couple hours."

Bruce nodded. "Sounds good."

Looking back down at his work, Tony muttered, "I wonder if he'll let me take a look at that arm…"

Bruce snorted. "Not _him_ you'll have to deal with."

Tony grinned. "Yeah…got a feeling that Rogers would kick my ass from here to Antarctica if I so much as _mention_ the arm in his presence."

"Basically…but you aren't gonna push it, are you?"

"Not exactly…" Tony sighed. "Look, I get it, a little. The mind games, the war in your head; I _get_ it! I still deal with it! You know that. I may be a genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist but even we have _standards_!"

"Proof that Tony Stark has a heart." Bruce muttered.

"Exactly! Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not _actually_ made of metal, I just occasionally _prefer_ it to the company of humans. Besides, we ended up as Science Bros against all odds, didn't we?"

Bruce smirked. "Yeah…we did."

"So anyway, I'll be good. I won't push it. But I'll still bring it up."

"Of course you will."

* * *

They arrived at the Tower early afternoon. Bruce and Tony were hanging around the Common Floor when Clint and Natasha got up there.

"Hey, Legolas, Annie, nice to see your smiling faces." Tony called out.

Bruce and Clint rolled their eyes at each other, before giving more friendly nods.

Natasha glowered at Tony. "Be glad that Christy is a few floors above us, Stark, because that's the only reason I don't kill you where you stand."

"Touching, Spider-woman, touching. So, where's Spangles, Mini-Cap, Birdman, and Tall, Dark, and Psycho, anyway?"

"Up on Steve's floor." Clint answered. "And you'd better can the snark before they come down."

"No worries, my feathered friend, I know how to behave."

Bruce raised a skeptical eyebrow at Natasha, who gave a genuine smile back. The two pulled over a little to one side

"How's it been for you?" she asked.

Bruce shrugged and smiled, a bit shyly. "'Bout the same as normal. It was…strange not having you around. I missed it."

As Natasha's brain whirled, trying to process _that_ statement, the elevator suddenly opened.

Christy, predictably, was the first one out. "Hi Uncle Tony, hi Uncle Bruce!" she called, giving each man a hug. "Missed you! Did you get out of the lab?"

"Yes, we did." Bruce assured her.

Steve, Sam, and Bucky slowly trooped out of the elevator. The atmosphere suddenly became horribly awkward.

Tony, never one to stand for awkward silences, quickly filled the tense air with noise. "So, anyway, welcome back to two of you and to the one I don't know…welcome to Avengers Tower, mi casa es su casa, etc., etc."

Steve snorted. "Buck, this is Tony Stark. He…kinda owns the Tower, here. Tony, this is Bucky Barnes…my friend."

Bucky was staring at Tony, his brain whirring on overdrive.

_Anthony Edward Stark, potential threat…Stark, Stark, why do I know that name, more than just for a target…_

He shook his head to clear it. "I…I know you. Somehow. I think you were on a list of targets…" he stopped, somehow knowing that was a bad thing to say. "Sorry! I…"

Tony spread his hands. "Hey, easy, s'okay. I get it. Not your fault."

"You also knew his father, Howard Stark." Steve added. "He was one of the people that did work on the serum."

_Stark Expo…Stark…dark hair and flashing eyes, like the man in front of him now…_

"I remember…" he muttered. "You look like him. But different. More…weathered."

Steve smiled as Tony looked completely taken aback. Considering it had taken _him_ so long to separate Tony from Howard in his mind, it must have come as a shock to Tony that Bucky could see some sort of difference right off.

Bruce came over next.

"Bruce Banner." he said, giving a calm nod. "And no, I'm not related to anyone you should know."

The barest smile crossed Bucky's lips at that. "H-hello."

Bruce smiled back, his heart aching slightly.

_Oh…we've got some work to do. What did they do to your head, my friend?_

"So, uh, don't suppose your arm needs a tune-up…" Tony said, trailing off. Steve shot him a glare.

But Bucky actually looked interested. "You can fix my arm?"

Tony shrugged. "Well…depends. Does it need to be fixed?"

"M-maybe. It feels…stiff."

"Well, I'll take a look at it, if you…say I can."

Bucky looked at Steve. "Can I?"

Steve almost threw up his hands. And here he'd been worried about Tony hounding Bucky…

"Whatever you choose, Buck. It's your arm."

"You…You'll come?"

"'Course."

Bucky nodded. "Fix…please." he mumbled to Tony. Tony nodded.

"You two wanna come up to the lab later…?"

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, after we've settled in. We kinda just threw our stuff on my floor."

"Yeah, and I'm starving. What's for lunch?" Clint asked, as Natasha elbowed him in the ribs.

As Clint protested all the way into the kitchen, Steve let out a sigh of relief. It was good to be home.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Steve and Bucky went up with Tony to the lab, to have a look at the arm. Christy was off with Bruce and everyone else was asleep or watching Netflix.

Bucky glanced around at the lab. He didn't feel too afraid yet. This lab was big and open, a far cry from the cluttered HYDRA labs he had experience with.

"Okay, over here, if you please, gentlemen." Tony said, clearing space. "Let's have a look-see."

Bucky sat down in the chair Tony indicated, watching as the dark-haired man bustled about. Steve perched on a counter close by.

"Alright…" Tony stopped in front of him. "You'll have to…uh, take your shirt off."

Wordlessly, Bucky slipped off his shirt. Tony blinked.

"Okay, thanks."

A strange silence that gradually grew comfortable filled the lab as Tony gently poked at the metal arm.

"Shoddy grafting job…" he muttered, gently ghosting a finger over the still-red line where metal met flesh. "Extremely shoddy. Bet this hurt like hell…"

Bucky shrugged. "I don't remember."

"Yeah, well, you might not wanna recover that memory. Let's see what I can do for the arm itself; it seems…decently constructed. _Decently_."

Steve snorted. "It's only just decent 'cause it's not yours."

Tony glowered, but didn't contradict Steve's statement. "…Possibly."

Bucky had vague memories of his arm being fixed and tuned-up. It mostly involved clinical touch and pain. But this…this was wholly different.

For one thing, Tony's touch was the exact opposite of clinical. It was completely gentle and warm, like he was enjoying his task as opposed to just hurrying to complete it.

(It also helped that, instead of the intense fear and loathing he remembered sensing off the HYDRA techs, Tony projected a competent, soothing air. It was…nice, not to have someone afraid of him.)

Second, Tony kept up a steady stream of conversation as he worked, most of which Bucky could barely follow and figured he wasn't supposed to. Steve would interject a comment here and there, but mostly just let the man chatter on to himself.

Finally, the loosening and tightening ceased and Tony stepped back. "Okay, I fixed some loose wiring, loosened and WD40'd a few stiff screws, added oil, re-calibrated the mechanism. Everything I could find is fixed. Aside from the obvious wear and tear…I'd say it's in pretty decent shape. But…if you maybe were looking for something more…realistic…"

Bucky frowned. "I…don't understand."

"Look, I could make you a better prosthetic arm that would actually look like a regular arm. And I can guarantee that I could put it on better than whatever yahoo put on the one you've currently got."

"That would be HYDRA." Steve muttered. "Specifically the Russians."

Tony snorted. "Makes sense. Tried to rip off our serum, tried to rip off our tech. Always ended up with second-best. So, whaddya say?"

Bucky shook his head. "I dunno…m-maybe?"

"The other option is, I could make you a slip-cover for the arm that looked real." Tony added. "You could put it on for going out in public, but still keep the same arm. I dunno if you got…attached to it or anything."

Bucky shrugged. "Just an arm."

"Yeah…just an arm. Well, think about it, okay?"

Bucky nodded. "I…I will." he looked at Tony, clearly trying to remember something. "Th-thank you."

Steve's eyebrows shot up. This was the first time Bucky had said 'thank you' since they'd found him.

Tony nodded. "You're welcome. Test it out, will ya? Wanna make sure it all works okay."

Bucky raised and lowered the arm, twisting it back and forth.

"Does it feel less stiff?"

"Yes."

"Good, that means I did my job. Unless you want a polish, we're done here."

Bucky frowned and let out a gut-level sigh.

_Why does everything have to be so_ _**hard** _ _?_

"I don't know." he mumbled.

Tony sighed back. "Forgot how to want, huh? Well, here's pros and cons. You can have an arm that's shiny, or you can have an arm that's all dingy and scratched up. Personally, I'd go with shiny…" here, Steve let out a bark of a laugh, "but that's just me. What about _you_?"

Bucky sat for a long minute, letting Tony's words roll through his head.

"Sh-shiny." he finally said, because no one had ever cared what his arm _looked_ like, so long as it could kill properly.

"Shiny it is." Tony replied, pulling out a jar of metal polish. "I can show you how to do this yourself, y'know."

Slowly, Bucky nodded, because again, this was completely new.

"Great! So, here, you start at the top where the metal meets your shoulder…"

As Bucky sat, listening intently and copying Tony's movements, Steve couldn't help but blink back a few tears.

_He's gonna be okay…oh, God, I think he's actually gonna be okay. We've got work, but…he's gonna be Bucky again. I can feel it._

* * *

Meanwhile, on the Common Floor, Bruce and Christy were enjoying the afternoon alone, drinking copious amounts of freshly-made chai tea. It was their thing, since, out of all the other Tower inhabitants, only Natasha drank tea at all, and only rarely.

Christy still hadn't developed a taste for coffee, and Bruce just preferred tea after being in India for so long.

"So…" Bruce asked, as they sat at the kitchen table. "How's the whole 'revenge is a terrible gift' thing working out for you?"

Christy made a face and took a sip of tea. "Needs more sugar…" She got up.

Bruce sighed. "Christy…I'm being serious."

"So was I! The tea was bitter!" At Bruce's look, she groaned. "Oh, alright. It's…maybe not going amazing. I mean, I'm not screaming about blowing up HYDRA bases _all_ the time…"

"Just once or twice, huh?"

"Yeah…"

"Christy…you know you can't keep doing that."

Christy frowned. "It's… _hard_. I don't wanna hate anyone…but this time it's really hard. And I get this kinda mad feeling in my chest that feels like I'm gonna explode if I don't punch something every time I learn about something else bad that happened to Uncle Bucky."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "That mad feeling? Join the club, kid. I live with it."

"So how do you make it not come?"

"You don't."

Christy looked slightly annoyed.

"Look, kid, I told your Dad once that my 'secret' is, I'm _always_ angry. And that's…kinda true. The Hulk is under my skin, all the time. Now, you may not have Hulk serum, but you do have a very good conscience."

"Isn't that a _good_ thing?"

"Well, yeah, but not when it makes you so angry, all you can do is rage. You see, when we rage, we usually end up scaring or hurting the very people we're trying to protect."

Christy nodded, slowly. "Is…is it bad that I have a punching bag?"

"Not at all. It's a good way to work out anger. Plus, it's usually in another room. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with excusing yourself to go smack the bag a few times." He smiled. "There's worse ways of coping."

Christy sighed. "I just wanna fix stuff."

Bruce nodded. "But think about it, sweetheart, how does smashing in the skulls of HYDRA agents fix anything that happened?"

"But _you_ do it. Or, well, you _would._ Dad does it. Aunt Tasha and Uncle Clint and Sam do it."

"True, but…"

"I live with the Avengers and you're telling me it's _bad_ to avenge?"

Bruce snorted. " _No_. Look…there's a time for everything, understand? And sometimes, the world needs avengers. But other times—and in my opinion, these times happen a lot more—the world needs someone to come along and help with healing."

"Is that why you're a doctor?"

"Yes…among other things."

"Other things like feeling guilty 'cause the Hulk hurts people and sometimes kills them?"

Bruce sighed. "Yeah…like that."

Christy patted his arm. "S'okay, Uncle Bruce. You don't have to feel guilty. 'Member, we like you!"

"See, this, this is what I meant!" Bruce threw up his hands. "You have so much more to give to people—kindness and gentleness, forgiveness and love—they come fairly easily to you! Why choose rage? Why choose hate? Revenge is a terrible gift. All it does is leave you empty. And it doesn't fix the people that have been hurt."

Christy looked thoughtful. "I…I wanna be the person that makes people feel better. I can fight, and I will, but…anybody can make people hurt. Not everybody can make people better."

Bruce smiled gently. "So…you wanna be a doctor?"

Christy shook her head slowly. "Nah…I wanna be…like Sam. Help people's brains."

"Ah, a psychologist; a counselor. That's a lot of work."

Christy shrugged. "Eh, I'm Captain America's kid. I'll figure it out. Maybe SHIELD will hire me…if SHIELD even exists anymore…"

"They still exist. Smaller, but they still exist."

"Okay. Then maybe I'll work for SHIELD. Or not. But I wanna help people, no matter what." She frowned. "I still like my punching bag. And training. And seeing bad guys lose."

Bruce smirked. "Perfectly acceptable."

It really was.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"It might be a good idea, Steve…"

"I'm not _saying_ it's a bad idea, Bruce, I just…"

"You know I wouldn't hurt him."

"I…I know."

"You would be there the whole time."

"I know!"

"Know what?" Sam cut in.

They were all, except for Tony and Christy (who were in the lab and still asleep, respectively) down on the Common Floor, even Bucky, who was sitting very still on the couch with that deadly attentive expression of his, similar to Natasha's 'observation face'.

Steve sighed. "I'll let Bruce explain."

Bruce shook his head and sat down on the couch. "Hey…Bucky? I have something to ask you…"

Bucky shot Steve a nervous look. Steve sighed again. "S'alright, Buck, I'm just being an overprotective moron. You can trust him. I swear. You can trust anybody on this floor."

Satisfied that Steve was calm, Bucky gave Bruce a small nod. The scientist gave him a soft grin in return.

"I am, among a lot of other things…" In the background, Clint fake-whispered 'green rage monster.' "…a doctor. Specifically, I deal with…organic chemistry. Neurons. Tissue. Brain-stuff. I could take a scan of your brain that would allow all of us to see exactly what's been done to it. It'll make things easier for us, and for you, if we know what's been damaged specifically. Help you heal."

Bucky furrowed his brow. "You're…gonna scan my brain?"

Bruce nodded. "Yes."

Bucky's face suddenly became a steely, determined mask that made Steve almost cry out in recognition. He knew that face…it was Bucky's 'I will survive this by sheer grit' face.

"H-how much w-will it hurt? I-I'm okay with a little, b-but…"

"No." Bruce said firmly, ignoring the grumble of rage from the Hulk that suddenly filled his head. "It will not hurt _at all_. _No pain. None._ Understand? It's like taking a picture of your brain. No shock, no electricity, no pain. I swear." He gave a half-grin. "And, Steve would personally beat me into next week if I tried anything like that."

Steve's only response was a quick nod and a dark scowl. "I'd be in there the whole time, Bucky."

"Me, too." Sam added quickly. "I wanna see this scan; might be good for therapy sessions."

"Therapy…?" Bucky mumbled.

"Yeah, you and me and maybe Steve talkin' and tryin' to screw your head back on straight."

"O-okay…I need that?"

Sam snorted a bit. "Yeah, my friend, I think you need it. Lots of it."

Bucky let out a long, deep sigh, tinged with the barest amount of frustration. Sam grinned.

"Yeah, yeah, we all know getting better sucks, but the point is _getting better_. And talking about your problems actually works, shockingly enough."

"Got office hours yet, Wilson?" Natasha joked.

"Yeah, stop by Steve's floor every afternoon between 2 and 5. Care to make an appointment, Romanoff?"

Natasha made a face. "I was joking! You're worse than Coulson!"

"Still waiting for that appointment time…"

Clint laughed, and got smacked on the arm for his trouble.

"Ow! Tasha, what was that for?"

"You know."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Assassins…jeez! So touchy…ah, ah, ah, remember that mission in Prague?! Tasha, get off me!"

And as Hawkeye and Black Widow tussled on the kitchen floor like a pair of puppies, Bruce turned back to Steve, Bucky and Sam. "So…this afternoon?

Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky nodded.

"Sure. This afternoon." Steve replied.

* * *

"Y'know, this kinda feels like an invasion of my lab." Tony quipped. Everybody, even Christy, was lounging about, wanting to see the scan happen.

Bruce rolled his eyes as he prepped the CT scanner. "I thought you said this side of the lab was mine."

"Temporary. On loan."

"Yes, because you're so into medical science, Stark." Natasha said, sarcasm oozing.

Bucky was staring at the CT scanner, his breathing short and shallow. Steve placed a soothing hand on his flesh shoulder and rubbed back and forth.

"S'okay, pal." he murmured. "This is not gonna hurt. I swear, on my life, it's not gonna hurt."

"This is a machine that takes a picture of your brain." Bruce explained softly. "It's like an x-ray. It'll show what areas of your brain have been damaged. Cameras don't hurt and neither will this."

Bucky nodded, shakily.

"Now, I need you to come and lay down on this part here." Bruce continued, tapping the flat platform of the machine. "You're gonna go under this arch-looking thing, the machine will scan and take its picture, and then you'll come straight out. It won't even touch your head."

Bucky stood up and walked over to the machine. He eyed it over carefully.

"This will help me get better?" he asked, looking directly at Bruce. The doctor nodded.

"Yes, it will. It's an ordinary CT scanner; could find one in any hospital around here. Nothing weird or strange or abnormal about it."

Giving a short, sharp nod, Bucky lay down on the platform. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth.

Steve shut his eyes too, as though in pain.

"S'alright." Sam whispered. "He'll figure out soon enough that it doesn't hurt."

Most normal CT scans took about fifteen to thirty minutes, but Tony had tinkered with the machine to improve its speed (like he did with everything). In no time at all, the scan was finished and Bucky lay out in the open again, blinking like an owl.

"That…that was it?" he whispered, glancing around as though the now-destroyed HYDRA brainwashing chair was going to pop out of a corner. "No shock? N-no electricity?"

"Well, this thing runs on electricity, but other than that, no, none." Bruce replied. "Like I said, it took a picture. Nothing more."

Nodding quickly, Bucky jumped off the platform and back over to Steve and Sam.

"Can we see the picture now?" Christy asked.

Bruce sighed. "Not exactly. It's…it's not just _one_ picture, it's a _lot_ of pictures. I need some time to look through them and put together a good analysis, so…give me until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow! I can't wait that long!" Christy cried dramatically.

Steve snickered. "It's not even your brain, baby. C'mon, let's do something else."

"Like eat ice cream?"

Steve started to protest, but Clint suddenly spoke up. "Y'know, that's not a bad idea, kid. Bet you-know-who didn't give him ice cream."

"Ice cream…" Bucky murmured. "I think…I think I remember that."

"If you remembered burgers, you'll remember ice cream." Clint said confidently. "C'mon Christy, let's go to the store."

"For what, there's vanilla ice cream in the Common Floor freezer!" Sam protested, even as Christy got up eagerly.

"Who said we're stopping at vanilla?" Clint said mysteriously, as he and Christy raced out of the lab.

"I swear, I don't know which one's the child…" Steve said quietly.

"Clint." Natasha said, deadpan. The barest smirk crept out. "Definitely Clint."

* * *

The next day, everyone gathered on the Common Floor to hear Bruce give the results of the scan.

"Okay, since it probably needs to be said, if I start getting technical…I dunno, scream or something, so I can explain it better. Understand?" Bruce said. He was standing in front of the TV in the entertainment area.

Everyone else, scattered about on the couch and various chairs, nodded.

"Great. Okay…" Bruce shuffled through his notes.

"You could've put that on your tablet, just sayin'." Tony said quickly.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I like paper sometimes. Anyway, here goes. Jarvis?"

Immediately, a holographic image of the brain appeared.

"So, the brain has two big, major parts, the cerebrum and the cerebellum. The cerebrum, here," he pointed to the corresponding part of the image "is divided up even more into four parts, lobes: temporal, occipital, parietal, and frontal. Each part controls a different aspect of your brain. The occipital lobe, for example, mainly controls your sense of sight."

"So, they wouldn't have messed with that?" Clint said. "I mean, they wouldn't want an assassin that couldn't see targets."

Bruce nodded. "Correct, his occipital lobe is completely fine. Unfortunately…that's about the only part that is."

He continued. "The frontal lobe controls…basically all your higher thinking: emotional, social, etc. It also controls your inhibitions, as well as concentration, speech and ability to mentally adapt to new situations."

"So, maybe a bit fried, but not completely." Tony cut in.

"Exactly. I suspect they were after your inhibitions." Bruce added, looking at Bucky. "They didn't want you thinking about whether or not you _could_ do something. They just wanted you to do it."

"Hence, things like ripping Sitwell out of our car and crashing through the window." Sam muttered.

Bruce nodded. "Now, here's where things get interesting. Both his temporal and parietal lobes were pretty heavily damaged, and both those areas deal a lot with processing memories. There's also more than one _type_ of memory. The three biggest ones are semantic, episodic, and procedural. Procedural…that's a memory that your body has. How to brush your teeth, fire a gun, ride a bike."

Everyone nodded.

"Semantic are memories that are mostly factual. One plus one is two, the earth is a sphere, etc."

"I…I have that." Bucky said quietly. "Those two."

"Yes, you do." Bruce replied. "Because if those types of memories were erased, you wouldn't have been able to function at all. I doubt they wanted that."

"Nope." Steve muttered sourly. "They did _not_ want that."

"So, the last type, episodic, are memories that deal with past events in our lives. The thing is, a lot of procedural and semantic memories are _tied to_ and _develop from_ episodic ones. It's often impossible to completely separate them from each other, although in the case of semantic memories, it's a bit easier."

"Like…I don't remember learning two plus two is four." Christy said.

"Right. But procedural…a lot of it is tied to some part of your life, your past…" Bruce paused and turned to Steve. "When did you two meet?"

Steve closed his eyes and frowned. "I was…four? Five? About to start school. My Ma and I…we moved into the apartment building where Bucky's family lived."

"So that's over twenty years that you two knew each other, before he fell…that's a lot of memories, and a lot of early memories as well. Ones they couldn't erase without taking away…"

"…everything that made him useful." Steve finished quietly.

"Correct. All they could do was push them down, shove them away. 'Lock up' the memories, so to speak, so they would be painful to access."

"But they were still there. They should still be there." Sam clarified.

Bruce nodded. "So far as I can tell, yes. Most of his early memories should still be able to surface, given sufficient time. Not _everything_ , but most things. What shouldn't come back so easily, is, ironically, what he's done over the last seventy years as the Winter Soldier."

"Because the memory wipes were more recent and there's no procedural memory to tie anything to." Natasha guessed.

"Correct again. Certain especially traumatic events, though…you _will_ start to remember them. Most likely in flashbacks or nightmares." Bruce winced apologetically.

Bucky nodded. "That…happened already. Pain…a lot of pain. No killing, not yet. But I know I did."

"Well, is it strictly necessary that he remember any of that stuff?" Tony asked. "I mean, it might be easier…"

"But I need to know!" Bucky cried. "I-I have to! I can't just keep not knowing…!"

"He's right." Steve said quietly. "And…anything's gotta be better than just a void. Ignorance isn't always bliss."

"Why do you think I always want to know what the Hulk did after a battle?" Bruce added. "It's oddly comforting sometimes, to just know. Sometimes the truth is kinder than our imagination."

Bucky nodded fervently. "So…w-will I get better?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'get better'." Bruce said kindly. "Will you be able to remember things from your past more? Yes, most likely. But _give yourself time_. It won't happen in a night, magically."

" _Thank you…_ " Sam muttered.

"If you mean, 'will you be the same person as before you fell?'…probably not. Seventy years is _seventy_ years; a long time. But you _will_ start to find yourself again, I promise."

"You'll get through this, Buck." Steve said. "I'm with you for this, pal."

"End of the line?" Bucky said quietly.

Steve nodded. "End of the line, and back."

* * *

Three days later, Sam decided that it would be a good idea to start having informal therapy sessions with Bucky. Surprisingly, the man was agreeable to being in a room without Steve.

He was _not_ so agreeable to talking, though.

Sam sighed tiredly. "C'mon, man, work with me. Have you been sleeping at night?"

"Yes."

"About how many hours?"

"I don't know."

"Do you get nightmares?"

"Yes. But I can't remember them when I'm awake."

 _Now...he could be telling the truth. Or...he could mean 'I don't want to talk about them'._ Sam thought grimly. He sighed again and sat back, folding his arms across his chest. They were in his room, with Bucky sitting on the bed and him in a chair.

"Alright, friend, you're not gonna wear me out or give me puppy-dog eyes and get out of it like you do with Steve. I can do this all day."

Suddenly, Bucky's eyes widened. He gripped the blanket in his fists, his lips mouthing some phrase too quiet to make out.

Sam waited until the man's eyes grew a bit less wild. "Flashback?"

Bucky nodded, jerkily.

"Good or bad?"

"G-good."

"You gonna tell me?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Bucky started to speak in a low tone, almost as if he were afraid the memory would be snatched away from him.

"S-Steve was in an alley, in fight. He was always in a fight. And he was gettin' beat up and I had to go save him again and he said, t' the people he was fightin' 'I can do this all day…'" Bucky trailed off.

Sam grinned enthusiastically. "That's good. Good you remembered that."

He started to place his hand on Bucky's knee, when the man suddenly twisted back and made a low, almost growling sound.

Sam drew back, puzzled. Bucky had been pretty receptive to most touch so far, so this was rather out of left field. He spread his hands.

"S'alright. I won't touch you if you don't want it."

"B-but I do." Bucky looked at him, his face horribly confused. "This happens lately…I get mad at people, start feeling angry, like I…I want to say no, even if I mean yes. Just to say no." He stared wildly at Sam. "I feel mad at _Steve_. I don't _want_ to feel mad at Steve! Or anyone! What's wrong with me?"

Sam blinked, startled.

One, this was quite possibly the longest speech he'd heard Bucky make.

Two, he was using the word 'want,' without enormous hesitation.

Three…

Sam shut his eyes, trying to think of the right words.

"Okay…first of all, there's nothing wrong with you. This is…actually normal."

Bucky looked even more confused. "N-normal?"

"Yeah, normal. So…" he trailed off, trying to think of a good analogy. "If someone throws a punch at you, what will you do?"

"Uh…uh…p-punch back? D-duck?"

"Exactly. That's because everybody in the world has these things called boundaries. They're what keep you from doing incredibly stupid stuff or letting other people control you. They're what make you say no. And your emotions…they work with your boundaries. If you're afraid, it means there's a threat you need to go away from. If you're angry…well, that means there's a threat you need to confront."

He sighed. "Problem is, anger doesn't understand time. Anger doesn't care if the threat was two minutes ago or twenty years ago. Anger just cares that there was a threat in the first place. So you have to work out the anger appropriately, otherwise it's just going to sit in your heart and ruin your life. And…you're not really angry at Steve. You're angry because there's seventy years of ignored, disregarded, unacknowledged 'no's' sitting inside you, waiting for a chance to be heard. Now that you're safe…they're being heard."

Slowly, slowly, something kindled in Bucky's eyes.

Sam's words made sense. 'No' had always been a 'bad' word, with HYDRA. To say 'no' to anything meant punishment.

A rush of jumbled, blurry images scattered across his mind's eye. Slaps, kicks, punches, orders. Other things too horrible to think on for long. Years and years of barely even being allowed to speak, being treated as nothing more than a dumb animal, an inanimate object…

And suddenly, Bucky was seeing red.

"Are you going to punch something or cry?" Sam asked.

Bucky just kept breathing heavy, like a bull in front of a matador.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm thinking 'punch'. C'mon, this way."

He half guided, half led Bucky into a smaller room, where a two punching bags hug from the ceiling. One was slightly smaller than the other.

Sam walked to the smaller one and began messing with something on the bottom of it.

Bucky's cloud of rage disappeared for half a moment. "Th-that's Christy's…"

"She won't care if you use it." Sam replied. "Now this, this is a special punching bag. It's got…"

A faint whirring sound suddenly echoed from the bag, like a laptop booting up.

"…faces. Watch."

Sam dragged his finger across the side of the bag, like one would on a tablet, until he stopped on a certain image.

"Come see."

Bucky walked over, still feeling anger course through his veins.

But his blood ran cold the minute he saw whose face was on the bag, in all its blond, smirking glory.

"P-P-Pierce…"

His eyes went wide in fear.

"He's dead. He can't hurt you." Sam replied calmly. "He was shot to death. But his face…if you want."

Bucky took a long, deep breath. And suddenly, a memory shot through his brain.

_"_ _Mission report."_

_Silence._

_"_ _Mission report, now!"_

_More silence. A slap to the face._

_"_ _That man on the bridge…who was he?"_

_"_ _You met him earlier this week, on another assignment."_

_"_ _I knew him."_

_"_ _Your work has been a gift to mankind…"_

He took one more look at the smirking image before him.

"I…I said no." he said. It was barely more than a whisper. "I…I knocked th-the guard out of the way, I said I knew him, I knew him! I did! I said no!"

His eyes turned murky, like the ocean in a rainstorm.

"I. Said. No."

And the first punch landed.

Sam let out a loud 'whoop'.

"I-I said no!"

Louder, another punch.

"I said no!"

Three more punches in quick succession. The image now appeared slightly bloody, in keeping with the software that let the images look worn out in proportion to the number of punches.

"I SAID NO!"

And the slaughter began in earnest.

Sam couldn't stop himself from laughing in triumph as Bucky rained down punches. This was perfect! This was exactly what he'd been hoping would happen! This was _breakthrough_!

Steve suddenly burst through the door. "Sam, what's going…?"

"Look!" Sam cut him off, gesturing wildly toward Bucky.

Steve's eyes turned into saucers as he took in the scene. And then he smiled.

"You tell 'em, Buck." he whispered. "You tell 'em."

Christy, attracted to all the noise, squeezed in between Steve and Sam.

"He's gettin' Pierce?" she cried. "Yes!"

It took a good fifteen minutes for Bucky to sufficiently work out enough anger to stop punching the bag. He lowered his fists, breathing heavy and almost snorting. His hair was tousled and wild, but his eyes were several shades calmer.

Said eyes locked with Steve's.

"You did it, pal." Steve said quietly. "Forget havin' him on the ropes, you had him lyin' in the center of the ring!"

What passed for a smile crossed Bucky's lips.

Christy was less restrained. She practically flung herself across the room and glomped onto Bucky's side.

"You did it! You got him!" she cheered.

Bucky actually smiled this time…and to everyone's surprise, swung the girl up on his shoulder, the way Steve did on occasion.

"Got him." he agreed softly.

"So…wanna finish the session?" Sam asked.

Bucky stared at him for a moment…and then, head high like a proud stallion, said, "No."

He walked out of the room.

Sam and Steve were left, gaping at each other. Steve was grinning hysterically.

Sam shrugged and pursed his lip. "I ain't even mad."

They both lost it for a good few minutes, before going out to the living room and finding Bucky and Christy sprawled out on the couch, giant bowls of ice cream in their hands.

Steve shook his head, resigned and happy.

_Today…today was a good day._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

During the day, Bucky's progress could be seen clearly. He was becoming more and more at ease around everyone that wasn't Steve (or Christy), his speech was improving, and hints of the old, boisterous Bucky peeked out like the sun through clouds. Best of all, he was recovering more and more memories of his life in Brooklyn. They were often fragmentary, but Steve was always happy to fill in the gaps.

Nights, however, were another story.

Bruce's warnings had proven true. Bucky began having nightmares—horrible, realistic nightmares—practically every night. At first, he would try to hide them; screaming into his pillow, clenching his teeth, pacing the apartment until he was calm enough to attempt sleep again. But Steve or Sam would always end up finding out, so he stopped actively trying to hide.

Steve woke up to the sound of screaming one night—terrified screaming. He rolled out of bed and rushed into Bucky's room next door, only to find his friend curled up in a ball in the far corner.

He slowed his pace and crouched down a few feet away. "Hey, Buck, it's me."

Bucky's head shot up and though the screaming ceased, his eyes were wild, with the look of a trapped animal.

"It's me, it's Steve. I'm here. I'm here, and you'll be okay. I promise, pal."

Bucky slowly lifted his head, trying to clear his mind. The dream had seemed so real!

"S-Steve." he whispered.

Steve breathed a gigantic sigh of relief. "Yeah, Buck, it's me. You know me."

"They came back for me." Bucky said, staring into space.

Steve frowned, sliding over next to his distraught friend. "Who did?"

"Pierce. Zola. Others…I don't remember their names. They were Russian, I think. They yelled at me in Russian. And they told me I belonged to them, still. That I had to come with them."

"You don't _belong_ to anyone, Buck." Steve said firmly. "You belong to yourself. Nobody has the right to take you anywhere you don't want to go."

"They told me I had to kill you. I-I killed you!"

"No, you didn't." Steve rubbed circles into Bucky's back. "You didn't kill me. Nobody killed me."

"B-but I tried…I almost did. On the hellicarrier…"

Steve sighed. "Was this your dream, or did you remember that?"

"Both…" Bucky unclenched slightly and curled into Steve's side. "Don't leave…please."

Steve winced at the desperation in his friend's voice. Before—growing up, during the war—Bucky had always been fiercely independent and hated being confined or controlled. And now, after decades of more-or-less slavery, that side of his personality was starting to emerge once again.

But at night, after nightmares, all of Bucky's anxiety and desire for close physical contact would come out like water from a gushing pipe.

Frankly, Steve didn't mind it. They'd shared beds all the time when they were younger, when Steve had been so sick that Bucky's body heat was practically the only thing keeping him alive. And of course, in Europe, army barracks and camping out had made for such close quarters that they might as well have been sharing a bed.

"C'mon, pal, I won't leave. Let's see if we can get you to sleep."

Steve pulled up Bucky from the ground and half carried him over to the bed.

"Too exposed." Bucky mumbled. "They could get in…"

" _They_ are all _dead_." Steve muttered back, desperately trying to keep the snarl out of his voice, lest Bucky think he was mad at _him_ , rather than at the various ghosts that dared to haunt his friend's sleep. "And no one will hurt you as long as I'm alive. Not after all the trouble we've gone to get you back."

Bucky gave a heavy sigh as he flopped onto the bed. Steve grabbed the extra blanket that had fallen off the side of the bed and wrapped Bucky up in it.

"There. Now you're not exposed. You're all covered up."

Bucky just blinked up at him, and nuzzled his face into the blanket.

Steve smiled. Christy would do the exact same thing. His daughter adored blankets, could always be found wrapping herself up in one, even now at the height of summer.

"Better?" he asked softly.

Bucky nodded. His eyelids were drooping, a sure sign of exhaustion. The constant nights of no or interrupted sleep were definitely taking their toll.

"I…I like being warm." Bucky whispered. He shook his head slightly. "I'm such a _mess_."

Steve couldn't help but smile, even though the statement was said seriously. It sounded so like Bucky—the man who never could give himself a break, who always had to be the strong one, who hated being weak…

"Yeah, well, y'know what?" Steve whispered, climbing onto the bed.

"What?"

"You're _my_ mess."

Bucky just let out a long, contented sigh as Steve crawled under the blanket and lay beside him. "I don't wanna be alone again." he murmured.

"I'm not leavin'." Steve promised, threading his fingers through Bucky's tousled mop of hair and untangling it. "You really need a haircut, pal."

Bucky hmmed. "I-I kinda like it."

Steve rolled his eyes, a gesture that was lost in the dark of the room. "Maybe just a trim, then?"

"Maybe…" Bucky could feel his eyes closing in exhaustion. Panic throbbed through his veins. If he went to sleep now, what was to stop his dream from coming back?

"Please, keep talkin'." he whispered, feeling like a horrible person. Steve was probably as exhausted as he was. "Please, I don't wanna think about…"

Steve caught on immediately. "Sure, pal. I get it." He let out a long sigh and lay down with Bucky's back against his chest, draping one arm protectively over his friend's body. It was a familiar position, dating back to freezing cold Brooklyn winters.

Only usually, their positions had been reversed, back then.

He rubbed his hand in a circle on Bucky's chest. "You gotta sleep, Buck. You've gotta be exhausted. Go to sleep…"

"Can't…" The word drifted out of Bucky's mouth in almost a whine. "Don't wanna…"

Steve smiled. "Always so stubborn." he whispered. "Alright, I'll try the Christy method."

Before Bucky had time to ask what the 'Christy method' was, Steve had begun to sing.

_"_ _Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart,_

_Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art,_

_Thou my best thought, by day or by night,_

_Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light…_

_Be Thou my battle-shield, sword for the fight,_

_Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight,_

_Thou my soul's shelter, and Thou my high Tower,_

_Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power…_

_High King of Heaven, my victory won,_

_May I reach heaven's joys, bright heaven's sun!_

_Heart of my own heart, whate'er befall,_

_Still be my vision, O Ruler of all…"_

The song was soothing, almost hypnotic. It sent shock waves of…something, through Bucky, something he'd never be able to name.

But it felt _good._ And it made him feel whole in a way he hadn't for a long time.

And suddenly, he had the barest impression of a room with wooden pews and an organ playing, and he was safe…

_Safe…_

Any presence that could bring light, he decided, had to be stronger than the ghosts that taunted him in his sleep.

And so, finally at peace, and with Steve's low voice lulling him into a state of calm, Bucky drifted off to sleep.

* * *

That night had ended well enough. But it was a few nights later that all hell broke loose.

_He was alone, he knew that much. Alone in a freezing-cold cell with nothing but the tattered clothes on his back._

_His hands were tied behind his back, and his left arm…his left arm was metal and his shoulder still hurt. He was covered in blood and bruises and his hair was starting to grow long._

_An official-looking man in a uniform suddenly strode into the tiny room, barking orders in a language he didn't understand. He said nothing._

_The man, still screaming, swung out his fist, and sent him sprawling against the wall with a crack. Now his ribs ached, but he could feel defiance course through him like strong medicine._

_"_ _You'll be sorry." That was all he said. "When he comes, you'll be sorry! He'll find me! He did it once, he'll do it again!"_

_The scene changed. It was later. He was still in the same cell, but time had passed. His hair was even longer now, and hung like curtains around his sallow face._

_A guard entered with a bowl of food, which he held out._

_"_ _Not hungry." he said._

_He was lying. But the same defiance as before was still running strong in his heart, so he refused the food, though his stomach whimpered in pain._

_The guard's face crumpled up in anger, and he slammed the bowl down on the floor, spilling soup everywhere._

_"_ _He'll find me." he said again. "'Til the end of the line. He'll come for me. You'll see!"_

_Again, the scene changed. Same location, same cold. He was now covered even more in bruises and blood; horrible wounds that gaped all over his body. His ribs stuck out._

_"_ _He's dead." A voice said, English words with a German accent. "He's not coming."_

_He raised his head to see a man in a lab coat, brandishing a newspaper (of all things) in front of his cell. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, trying to read the headline that swam in front of him._

**_"_ ** **_Steven Rogers Lost in Plane Crash. Missing and Presumed Dead."_ **

_"_ _No…" he whispered. This was all wrong. Steve couldn't be dead; he couldn't! Steve was supposed to be invincible now! Steve was supposed to be_ _**safe** _ _!_

_Steve was supposed to find him…_

_"_ _It's not true!" he cried out. The lab-coat man laughed; a high, deranged sound._

_"_ _Oh, it is true, Sergeant! And now, you belong to us! You will be the new fist of HYDRA! And together, we shall re-shape the world in our image!"_

_"_ _NO!" he screamed, his heart pounding like a drum. "No, no, it's not true, you're all lying! I'll never belong to you! You'll never own me! HE'LL COME FOR ME!"_

_The man just continued to laugh. "Put him on ice!" he barked out. "See if some time in the cooler does not calm his fire!"_

_He kept screaming, even as the men pulled him away._

_And then, there was nothing but darkness._

_And cold._

_He was alone._

* * *

Bucky woke up screaming.

* * *

Steve woke up to the sound of Bucky screaming. Once again, he rolled out of bed and ran to Bucky's room.

Bucky was actually in bed this time, but he was sitting bolt upright and letting out the most heartbreaking, bloodcurdling yelps Steve had ever heard in his entire life.

It sounded like he was being tortured.

Steve practically skidded over to the bed and grabbed his friend around the shoulders.

"Buck? Bucky! Snap out of it, pal!" he cried. "You're safe. You're in Avenger's Tower! HYDRA's gone! Wake up, please."

Slowly, Bucky's screams began to die down. His breathing became heavy and panting, as though he'd just run a sprint. His eyes were wild with fear and pain and some other, nameless emotion that Steve couldn't quantify.

It looked like _despair_.

Steve could feel his eyes growing wide. He tried to focus on breathing normally.

This was the worst night yet.

"Wh-what did you dream?" Steve asked hesitantly, dreading the answer.

_Whatever it was, it can't have been anything good!_

Bucky's eyes locked with his. "You were dead." he whispered. "They told me you were dead. They hurt me, kept hurting me, but I said you'd come for me. And then, they told me you were dead, showed me the newspaper. And then the man in the lab coat said I belonged to them and I was going to be the new fist of HYDRA and then I screamed and screamed, but they took me away, to the cold…"

Steve just grabbed Bucky in a hard, wordless embrace. Pressed against his chest, Bucky's heart sounded away like a heavy metal band.

"Sounds like you gave 'em hell." Steve whispered. "And, you know you don't belong to them. They don't have that right, to own you. They never did."

"I…I said you'd come for me. That they'd be sorry when you came."

Suddenly, all of Steve's blood turned to ice, and his stomach plummeted to the depths.

_I said you'd come for me…_

His brain finally registered Bucky's words.

Bucky had expected Steve to save him. And why not? He'd swooped in like a hero, saving him out of Schmidt's fortress. He'd found him, against all odds. Why shouldn't he have been able to do it again?

Why _hadn't_ he done it again?

_But he was dead! We all thought he was dead! Who could survive a fall from that high…?_

_Someone with serum. Someone who'd been experimented on. Someone like Bucky…_

Steve suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.

_This…this is all my fault! I should have looked for him! I should have gone after him! I should have tried harder; should have known the serum would have let him survive the fall! This is all my fault…_

_Everything!_

_All my fault…_

Steve suddenly _knew_ he was going to be sick.

"B-Bucky? C-can you…?"

Too late.

* * *

"Sam? Sam, wake up! Please wake up!"

Sam rolled over and groaned. A hand was on his shoulder, giving a decent impersonation of a miniature earthquake.

He sat up and blinked blearily at the figure in front of him.

"Christy? What's goin' on?"

In the dim moonlight, Sam could see Christy shake her head.

"I dunno! All I know is I woke up and I heard screaming and Dad was crying…"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up. Steve was _crying_? You sure it wasn't Bucky?"

"Positive…I know what Dad's crying sounds like."

Sam decided not to look too deeply into that one.

"Okay…" he sighed. "I'll go see what's goin' on. Why don't you head back to bed, kiddo?"

"B-but…can I help?"

"Christy…look, you did the right thing, getting me. I'm proud of you. But right now, the best thing for you to do would be to go back to your room, listen to some music, and go back to sleep. Alright?"

Christy sighed heavily. "Alright…"

Sam gave her a hug. "Good girl. Thank you."

As Christy slipped out the door, Sam tipped his head up to the ceiling. "Jarvis…?"

"Yes, sir?" the impeccable sounding AI replied.

"Can you wake up Barton and tell him to get down here? I think I'm gonna need back up."

"Certainly, sir. I shall employ my best measures."

Sam didn't even want to _know_ what that could mean.

"Alright. Thanks Jarvis."

"You're quite welcome."

With a deep sigh and a 'here goes nothing,' Sam exited his room.

When he stepped out into the living area, he saw Bucky on the couch, cocooned in a blanket.

"Hey, Bucky." he said, just loud enough not to startle the man. "Where's Steve?"

The blankets shifted. "I-In there." Bucky pointed in the direction of the laundry room.

Sam's eyebrows shot up, but he calmly said, "Alright. Thanks," and headed over.

Sure enough, Steve was in the laundry room, stripped down to boxers and an undershirt. The washing machine was sloshing with a load.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"I got sick." Steve said shortly.

"You _what_?"

"I got sick, but I'm fine!"

Sam crossed his arms. "The hell you're fine! What happened?"

"Nothing! Bucky had a nightmare, things got a little crazy. My stomach couldn't handle it, I guess."

Sam was two seconds away from shaking Steve back to sanity, when a knock sounded on the front door.

"That'll be Clint." he muttered, sweeping out of the room.

"Clint! What's Clint…I'm _fine_ , Sam! I swear!"

Sam ignored the protests and almost ran to open the door.

A rumpled-looking Clint stood in the hallway.

"What happened? Jarvis said there was an emergency."

"The hell if I know." Sam muttered testily. "Apparently Bucky had some kinda nightmare and Steve _threw up_ …"

Clint's eyebrows shot up. "He _what_?"

"But he's now insisting he's _fine_ , perfectly _fine_ …"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Now _that_ , I can believe. Where is he?"

"In the laundry room. Look…" Sam ran a hand over his non-existent hair. "You get the blond, I'll get the brunet, and maybe we might just all get some sleep tonight."

Clint smirked. At any other moment, he would have made a quip, but he knew that now was hardly the time. "Got it." He walked in the direction of the floor's laundry room.

* * *

Steve was slumped against the wall in a heap when he walked in.

"Hey, Steve." he said. "You alright?"

"Fine." Steve said, his voice almost monotone. "I'm okay. Bucky's the one who had the nightmare."

Clint sighed, trying to choose his words carefully.

"Sounds like it was rough for you, too."

Steve sighed.

"Wanna spill on me?"

"Not really."

"Steve." Clint slid down beside the man and gripped his shoulder. "You have many good qualities…but you are a terrible liar. You're not fine. Now tell me what happened."

Steve was silent for a long minute. Clint almost wondered if he'd drifted back to sleep.

And then, he spoke.

"He dreamed about the HYDRA base, I guess it was a HYDRA base. Wherever he was taken after he fell. He...they _tortured_ him! For weeks, months, I dunno how long! But he didn't break. He kept…he kept saying I'd come for him…and then, I was killed. And they froze him."

Steve gazed up at Clint with horrified, guilt-ridden eyes.

"He told them I would come for him, _and I didn't_! I _abandoned him_! I should have known that he had enough of some kinda serum in him to survive that fall! I should have kept looking! I let my best friend, the only one still alive who'd ever seen something worth seeing in a skinny little 90 pound asthmatic named Steve Rogers…I left him alone! Alone…"

"Steve. Steve! Rogers! Cap!" Clint shook him by the shoulders. "Listen to me!"

Steve's eyes were dull in the muted light. "Don't tell me I couldn't have done anything. I could have."

" _Theoretically_!" Clint sighed. "Look, Steve, you were thinking like any sane, logical person, that there's no way someone could survive a fall from that height! You had no idea! You can't blame yourself. There's no way you could have guessed he was alive. _Nobody did_! His name's still on the SHIELD memorial of people that died in the line of duty, for God's sake! Nobody else figured out what you so ' _obviously_ ' should have. So it wasn't all that obvious!"

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" Steve whispered.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Because you don't know your own limits. It's why you jump out of planes with no parachute and smash through solid glass with nothing but your shield! You think you can do everything! But sometimes…you can't." He shook his head. "You're gonna have to forgive yourself."

"I…I don't think I can do that."

"Yes you can. Try…" Clint breathed out. _Thank you, Coulson…_ "Try to picture yourself as you were—a scared twenty-five year old who'd just lost his best friend. Can…can you really accuse that guy so harshly?"

Steve shut his eyes. A lone tear escaped through one eyelid. "No…"

"Have some grace for that scared twenty-five year old. He was tired and lonely and not thinking with the benefit of hindsight. Forgive him. Forgive yourself."

Steve gave a long shuddering breath. "A-alright. I do. I'll try, anyway."

Clint smiled. "That's all I can ask. C'mon."

* * *

Sam sat with Bucky on the couch. The man was still cocooned in blankets and not looking likely to give up that position any time soon.

"What happened, man?" he asked softly. "You can tell me."

Bucky shivered. "I…I made Steve sick."

Sam gave a gentle snort. "I highly doubt _you personally_ made Steve sick."

"But I did! I was telling him what I dreamed, and then he just…got sick. All over the bed."

"So…what _did_ you dream?" Sam asked. "I promise not to get sick."

Bucky told him, starting at the beginning. By the time he'd finished, Sam was sure of two things.

One, he knew _exactly_ what had caused Steve to get sick.

And two, that there was a special place in hell reserved for every sick individual that had hurt the man in front of him.

There was nothing he could really say to comfort Bucky; Steve would have to do that himself.

"Are…are you feeling better, since you woke up."

Bucky nodded.

"Good. Just…sit still and try to think about something…normal. If you can."

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Steve and Clint walked back into the room.

"Bucky?" Steve choked out. "I'm sorry, pal…"

Bucky looked confused. "I'm the one that made you sick."

"What? Oh, forget that! I don't care. But I'm…I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

"But you did." Bucky frowned, peering at Steve's face in the dim light. Steve's eyes were red and rimmed, like he'd been crying.

_Steve's hurt…and I fix that. That's my job._

"You saved me." he repeated. "You found me."

"This time." Steve said lowly.

And then, the light bulb went off in Bucky's brain.

"I, I didn't mean…when I said, it was just the dream!"

"You told them I would come for you. I didn't."

"Because you thought I was dead." Bucky knew this.

"Yeah, but I should have known…"

"Steve don't start this again." Clint warned.

Steve sighed. "I didn't save you. And I'm so sorry…I left you alone, alone with HYDRA! I failed…"

_Stubborn punk!_

The words shot through Bucky's brain like bullets. He stretched out his arm and placed his hand on Steve's shoulder, clumsily.

"You always were a stubborn punk." he whispered, words dredged up from half-remembered childhood days. "Always way too stubborn for your own good. You didn't know. Don't blame yourself. I…" he shut his eyes. There was a phrase you were supposed to say…

"I forgive you." he said finally.

Steve's breath hitched.

"I forgive you." he repeated.

Steve bowed his head, let the words swirl around him like audible grace.

_I forgive you._

He still felt guilty. But maybe he could learn to let it go.

"H-how you feelin', jerk?" he managed. "Guess that dream shook you up pretty bad."

Bucky shrugged, but the look in his eyes was strained. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Of course. Let's go in your room, since mine's kinda a wreck"

Clint folded his arms. "You two, go to bed." he said, in a fake-parental tone.

"Yes, _Dad_." Steve tossed back, as he and Bucky started towards Bucky's room. "And, Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Clint smiled. "No problem. Anytime." He turned to Sam. "It's like 3 in the morning, can I just crash here on the couch? I don't feel like going back to my floor."

Sam shrugged. "Guess so. I'm headed back to try and salvage my night's sleep. Thanks for the back up tonight."

"Sure, sure. Like I said, we gotta be the sane ones around here!"

Sam rolled his eyes and headed back to his room.

* * *

Back in his bed, pressed up against Steve like an anchor, Bucky whispered, "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"C-can you sing that song again…the one from the other night?"

"Which one…oh, that one." Steve smiled. "Sure."

_"_ _Be Thou my vision…"_

The song acted like an extra-strength knockout pill, and both men were soon asleep.

And nothing dared to haunt their sleep any further that night.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

A few days before the Fourth of July, Sam had returned to D.C., briefly, to settle some details regarding his (now _old_ ) house.

Bucky had progressed enough that Steve felt no fear in leaving him and Christy alone on their floor, while he went for a run. (Although he did tell Jarvis to alert the others if something went seriously wrong).

Christy woke up earlier than usual and sat on the couch, reading.

And, as usual, Bucky was watching her.

Watching things or people was an old, well-worn habit, even from before his Winter Soldier days. He _had_ been a sniper after all. Over the weeks he'd been in the Tower, he'd made it almost a game to watch the others, taking note of facial expressions, body movements, speech quirks. It was almost… _fun._ For the first time in forever, that word had meaning.

And it was nice to simply observe people for observation's sake, as opposed to looking for a weakness to exploit.

Right now, Christy's face was scrunched up adorably as she read her book, her lips occasionally mouthing words. Suddenly, her lips gave a familiar twist, one that meant she was angry. She quickly folded down the corner of the book and thrust it aside, chest heaving.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked.

Christy frowned. "The girl in this book is such a jerk." She got up and stormed into the kitchen. "I want tea." As she banged around, she kept venting.

"She's a brat and I don't like brats! I hate the way girls fight. Boys just hit each other and get it over with; girls use _words_ , and words hurt worse!"

Bucky felt a smile stretch across his face. "I think Sam would have a long word to describe that."

"Oh, he does. It's called _manipulation_ ; when people use words like kicks and punches. I asked him about it."

_When people use words like kicks and punches…_

And suddenly, Bucky found himself thrown back into the past.

_"_ _Well, they found him! Frozen solid!"_

_The Soldier wasn't entirely sure who The Secretary was talking about, but it made The Secretary angry, and that was never good._

_"_ _He was lucky, you know. Died before he ever got the chance to have his ideals broken; died still believing in_ _**freedom** _ _and_ _**justice** _ _." The man practically spat out the last two words._

_"_ _He left you, you know."_

_The Soldier frowned. Someone_ _**left** _ _him? Left him where? When?_

_"_ _Abandoned you…didn't even bother to search."_

_Search? The Soldier sat quietly, still as stone. The Secretary was looking more and more erratic, another bad sign._

_"_ _I saved you, you know. Got you back from those damned Russians…they didn't have the ability to maintain you! I gave you a purpose! I_ _**saved** _ _you!"_

_The Solider nodded quickly, because of course, one didn't argue with The Secretary._

_But he couldn't help wondering who this man was that made his handler so angry._

"Uncle Bucky? Please come back! Are you in there?"

Bucky gave a long, shuddering breath, and tried to get a handle on his surroundings.

"Y-yeah. I'm here." he muttered.

"Look at me. Please!" Christy's voice sounded oddly authoritative and practiced, like she'd done this before.

Startled, Bucky turned and faced the girl, who was standing to the side of the couch.

"Okay. Okay. Sorry, but Dad told me to make sure he's looking at me, after a flashback, so that he'll know it's me moving around and not someone in the flashback. I figured same thing for you…"

She looked so serious that Bucky felt unconsciously guilty. "I'm back. I'm fine. Not gonna hurt you."

"Can…can I hug you?"

A hug…that sounded like a fantastic idea. "Yeah, actually, please…"

Without any further prompting, Christy flopped onto the couch and snuggled next to him.

"You're okay. The bad guys can't hurt you." she whispered.

Bucky shut his eyes and tried to work on breathing normally. Flashbacks during the day weren't usually as bad as the ones at night.

_Breathe, breathe, everything will be fine. Breathe…_

* * *

Steve's first clue that something was wrong was when he stepped off of the elevator on to his floor. Bucky and Christy were curled up on the couch, his friend's eyes edgy and slightly terrified.

 _Crap_ …

"Hey, Buck." he said, careful to keep his voice steady. "How are you doing?"

Bucky shrugged slightly. Steve willed himself not to panic.

"Hi Dad." Christy said, lifting her head up. "Uncle Bucky had a flashback."

Steve dropped onto the couch like a lead weight.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Just a flashback." Bucky said firmly. "I'm okay."

Steve rolled his eyes theatrically. " _Not_ going to work on me, pal."

The two friends had a brief stare-off. Bucky finally heaved a sigh.

"It was _him_." he muttered. "Pierce. I…I think it was after you'd been found, in the ice. He was mad, sayin' somethin' about how you'd died believing in ideals and left me and he… _saved_ me, or somethin'. Some lie."

"He said Dad _left you_?" Christy said, incredulous. She had been in bed several nights back, when all hell had broken loose over _that_ topic. "Did he miss the part where you _fell off a train and they thought you were dead_? Or where Dad had nightmares for _months?_ I can't believe he…ugh!" She suddenly stood up and ran out of the room.

Steve glanced after her and shook his head. "She'll be alright." he sighed. "It wasn't totally a lie." At Bucky's confused look, he added, "What he said to you, I mean. I…I did let you fall."

He slumped down, head in his hands. Bucky reached over and pulled his head up. This was not about to be a repeat of that other night.

 _Steve always did blame himself for everything…_ The thought flew through his mind like a missile.

"Yeah, okay, so ya let me fall." he whispered, his Brooklyn accent strong, the way it always was when memories kicked in. "But ever since you found me, you've been doin' a damn good job of holdin' on to me. You thought I was dead, so you didn't come looking. Well, I fell off a train! What else were you supposed to think? You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't abandon me."

Steve tried to protest, but Bucky cut him off. Something was taking over in his mind, making his words flow like a river.

"No, you listen to me, Steve Rogers. You always were too stubborn for your own good. Never could accept that there was something you couldn't do. But this was one time where you couldn't have known better. And if it makes you feel any better, I forgive you. _Again_. So quit beatin' yourself up!"

Steve sighed. He knew Bucky was right, but there was still that tiny portion of his mind that refused to absolve him of guilt, even after that crazy night, even now. "I…I'll try. And thanks."

"Anytime, punk."

There was silence for a long time. Once Steve had assured himself that things were more or less back to normal, he went to take a shower. Christy came out and sat back down on the couch.

"Sorry." she said. "I needed a sec."

Bucky gave her a lopsided half-smile. "Did you punch his face?"

"Yeah. A lot." Christy's eyes moved over to his metal arm and settled on the blood-red star.

"Have you thought about getting that changed?" she asked, tapping the shape. "I-I mean, you don't have to or anything, I was just wondering."

Bucky looked startled. "I kinda forgot about the star, it was always just there. I don't remember where it came from."

"Well, would you change it?" Christy persisted.

Bucky glanced at the star (red like blood, like death, like killing…) and found himself saying:

"What should I change it to?"

"Well, it's your arm…"

"And your idea. So what do you think?"

Christy gazed at the offending shape and bit her lip. She traced a small circle around it, then another, and another, and another, each growing progressively larger.

Bucky caught on and grinned, really grinned. "Yes…"

"You sure?"

"Yes. But where…?"

Christy grinned. "Where else?" She glanced up at the celling. "Jarvis?"

"Miss Rogers?"

"Is Uncle Tony in the lab?"

"Sir is currently occupying his lab, along with Dr. Banner. Shall I inform him of your coming?"

Christy glanced at Bucky. Bucky nodded.

"Yes, tell him we'll be there in…twenty minutes…?" Bucky nodded again. "Yeah, twenty minutes."

"Very well."

Christy grinned. "I gotta get dressed." She dashed into her room. Bucky, already dressed, wrote a note to Steve, saying where they'd gone.

Less than ten minutes later, Christy tore out of her room. "You ready?"

Bucky nodded. "Does Tony have paint?"

"Uh…I'd think so…yeah, he should. Let's go!"

* * *

Five minutes later, they stepped out of the elevator into Tony's lab. The billionaire sat tinkering with something, but spun around as soon as the elevator pinged. "Hey, Mini-Cap, Six-Million-Dollar Man! What's up?"

Christy rolled her eyes, but otherwise refrained from commenting.

Bucky held out his metal arm. "I need some assistance getting rid of this." He gestured to the star.

"Just getting rid of it or changing it?"

"Changing it. Christy had an idea."

"Which is…?"

Christy smiled her mega-watt grin. "Dad's shield. He's already got a star; all we gotta do is paint over the red with white and add rings."

"That sounds…vaguely symbolic." Came Bruce's voice from across the lab. "Paint over red with white, I mean. Like a fresh start."

Bucky nodded. "That's what I was trying for. And…" he looked shyly down at the floor, still unused to sharing his thoughts with people.

"And what?" Bruce prompted gently.

"And it's like I'm screwin' with HYDRA, well, the Soviet part of HYDRA. I don't much remember how it got there, but I think…I think it was supposed to be like a mark of ownership. Well, Steve already had almost a twenty-five year jump on 'em. I belonged to Steve Rogers long before I ever belonged to anyone else, and he was the only one who had me willingly. And vice versa. So it's only right to have the shield on my arm."

It was one of the longest speeches either Tony or Bruce had ever heard out of Bucky. Naturally, the room was pretty quiet for about half a minute.

Also just as naturally, Tony was the one to break the silence.

"Okay, well, let's get going, shall we, before Capsicle comes a-knockin'. Does he know you're here?"

Bucky nodded. "I left a note. He tends to get antsy if I disappear randomly."

Tony's jaw dropped comically. "Was…was that a joke? Oh my God, I think that was a joke!"

Christy groaned. "Uncle Tony, come _on_!"

"Alright, alright! One shield coming up!" Tony got up and started to root around in a drawer, returning with three tubes of paint and brushes.

"Ooh! This can be Dad's birthday present!" Christy cried. "'Cause it's in a few days!"

 _It is…?_ Bucky thought, feeling terrible. Then, something clicked.

 _That's right…he was born on the Fourth of July!_ He smiled, as another memory fizzled up from the depths.

_"_ _Look, Stevie! They put on fireworks just for you! The whole city's celebrating_ _**your** _ _birthday!"_

"Am I the only one that thinks it's hilarious that Cap was born on the Fourth?" Tony asked, looking over the arm.

"No, you're not, but keep the jokes to a minimum." Bruce said, grinning slightly.

Tony smirked back, and then frowned. "The star's too big. If you want the shield, I'll have to get rid of this thing altogether."

Bucky hesitated for all of half a minute. "Get it off. Please."

Tony nodded. "Thought so. Right, one can of paint stripper, coming up!"

It took a while to get the paint off; it was old ("What did they make paint out of in the forties? Nuclear energy?" "No, but they did use lead…") and soaked in, but after much scrubbing, there was success at last.

When there was only a faint red smear left, Tony handed the rag out to Bucky. "Care to do the honors?"

Bucky looked confused for a moment…and then his lips curved in a smirking grin.

"Hey, I did it! I made the Terminator smile!" Tony crowed as Bucky grabbed the rag and rubbed it fiercely over the metal of his arm.

"Bye-bye, HYDRA." Christy muttered.

With a gleaming metal canvas to work on, Tony glanced up. "J? Can I have a template, please?"

A shimmering holographic image appeared on Bucky's arm, looking like a picture in a child's coloring book.

"Great." Tony winked at Christy. "I'm not an artist, but I _can_ follow a blueprint."

Christy giggled.

It took about half an hour for Tony to paint over the tracing, creating a very nice miniature image of Steve's shield.

"Okay…done! It's gotta dry now, but it's all finished, other than that. Have a look, Robocop!"

Frowning in puzzlement at the nickname, Bucky glanced over at his arm.

The frown quickly disappeared, to be replaced by a long stare…and finally a smile.

"Yes." he said quietly.

Christy squealed. "It's perfect! Dad's gonna love it!"

Privately, Bruce had a feeling that Steve would be more embarrassed than anything else…but he held his tongue.

"So, I'm guessing this means you don't want another prosthetic?" Tony asked.

Bucky blinked…and then remembered.

"Maybe a…" he cupped his right palm and moved it over the arm. "A cover."

Tony nodded. "A cover for going out, to spare you from a thousand unwanted questions." He made a face. "Been there, done that, it's not as fun as it looks."

Bucky nodded furiously. "I can't be recognized."

Bruce suddenly frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Would anyone ever…come after you?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Bucky bit his lip and shook his head. "After D.C….no one. Nothing. Like I…didn't even exist."

"Probably everyone was too busy trying to save their own skins after Romanoff dumped everything on the net." Tony said, scoffing. "Cowards."

Bruce nodded. "And with you-know-who dead, well…I suspect there really _was_ no one left to care overly much."

Christy shrugged. "Works for us!"

Tony and Bruce laughed, and even Bucky cracked a smile.

"Yeah." Tony said. "Works for us."

* * *

When Steve came out of his room after showering and changing into something besides sweats, his heart dropped into his stomach for a solid minute of panic.

"Bucky? Christy?" he called out nervously.

His eyes finally spotted the note on the kitchen counter.

_In the lab. Christy's with me._

Steve breathed out a long sigh of relief. "Give me a heart attack, why don't ya, ya stupid punk." he muttered. "Now, why are you in the lab…?"

With a shrug, he grabbed a book and set off for the Common Floor. Bucky was probably just getting his arm tuned up.

* * *

"Attention, Attention! Gentlemen…and Natasha. We have an announcement to make!"

Natasha rolled her eyes as Tony, Bruce, Christy, and Bucky stepped out of the elevator onto the Common Floor.

"'We'?" Bruce said, faintly sarcastic.

Tony nodded enthusiastically. "I painted it."

Bruce just rolled his eyes.

Steve and Clint looked over from their heated game of Mario Kart. "What's goin' on?" Clint asked.

Tony beamed at Bucky. "Robocop…care to do the honors?"

Bucky cocked his head. "If…if you explain 'Robocop'." he said, his tone _almost_ to sarcasm levels.

Steve's face split into a grin, hearing that tone.

The billionaire blinked. "Fair. I'll explain later. Now, unveil the masterpiece, if you please."

Bucky nodded, and flashed his arm out.

Natasha smirked and nodded in approval. Clint whistled and called out, "Nice one, man!"

And Steve's jaw looked like it would hit the floor.

"It's…it's your birthday present." Bucky said quietly.

Slowly, Steve walked over and traced the outline of the shield, _his_ shield.

"Buck, I…I dunno what to say!"

_I don't deserve this! I'm just a kid from Brooklyn who couldn't keep his nose out of a fight! I dragged him to the edge of the world, watched him fall to a fate worse than death…what did I ever do to deserve such loyalty?_

"I…I don't deserve it!" he whispered.

Bucky frowned. Steve was supposed to be _happy_ …

"Don't you like it?" he asked. "Better than the blood star."

Steve sighed. "Yes, _much_ better than the red star. But Bucky…do you know what this means?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah. Means I owe you my life. Means I'm with you 'til the end of the line."

"But you don't…"

"Yes, _I do_." Bucky's eyes hardened with intensity for a moment, and then softened. "Happy Birthday, punk."

And, with a move he'd practiced many times in his head, he grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug.

Steve made a noise of surprise, and then quickly returned the gesture, sighing in happy resignation. "Thanks, jerk."

_Thank you, my friend…_

* * *

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday…"

Steve jerked awake to a slightly off-key rendition of the birthday song, not even sure what year it was.

And then, his eyes caught sight of Christy, standing to the side of his bed. She was holding a giant baking dish filled with…

"Is that cake?" he muttered.

Christy nodded. "I made you a birthday cake! Well, Sam helped with the icing. But I made it! And it's _chocolate_!"

Steve couldn't help but smile as he caught sight of Bucky and Sam, hanging back by the door and sporting ridiculous grins.

"I helped, too." Bucky protested.

"You ate batter." Sam corrected. "And frosting."

"I had to make sure it tasted right!"

"Well I'm sure it's great…" Steve started, before catching sight of the candles on said cake.

They were the giant wax number candles…and they were very clearly a '9' and a '6'.

"Hah-hah, very funny." he said.

Christy laughed hysterically.

"Well, so glad you made it this far, old-timer." Sam said, smirking.

Steve rolled his eyes. " _Thanks…_ "

* * *

Natasha came down to the Common Floor later that day, to find Sam, Clint, Steve, Bucky, and Christy flopped in front of the TV.

On-screen, loud action music and bullet sounds poured forth.

"What are you guys _watching_?" she muttered, not exactly looking for an answer.

Unfortunately, two of the five people in front of her had enhanced hearing.

"It's called _The A-Team_." Steve replied. "It's apparently about four former army members that got convicted…"

"For a crime they didn't commit!" Clint chimed in, sounding like he was quoting something.

"And now they work like good-guy mercenaries." Sam finished.

Natasha just shook her head. " _That's_ a TV show?" She rolled her eyes. " _Amerikantsy."_

Bucky's head shot up at the sound of Russian. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then, a certain gleam came into them.

" _So sorry our capitalist decadence offends you, comrade."_ he said, his Russian so hilariously exaggerated that Natasha had to laugh.

Clint, who spoke some Russian, also snorted in laughter…as did Steve.

"You speak Russian?" Natasha asked, shocked. Steve shrugged.

"Enough to say, ' _You're safe, it's okay'_ and ' _I would kill anyone who hurt you_.'"

Natasha nodded, understanding. "For his nightmares."

"Exactly."

Christy tugged at Bucky's sleeve. "What did you say?"

"You wouldn't get it, kid." Natasha cut in. As Christy started to protest, she slid down onto the floor, in the midst of the group.

"So what's happening?" she asked Clint. He smiled and started explaining in a low whisper.

"Okay, so the girl's being held prisoner by this psycho guy that wants to marry her for her money…"

* * *

It was a good birthday, Steve decided. Probably the best he'd had since he'd woken up.

His team was safe, Christy was happy, and best of all, his friend had come back to him, something he'd never dared to hope for in a million years.

Life was still hard and sad and filled with painful reminders of a past that he could never get back.

But day by day, he was learning to let his past dreams die, in order that new and better ones could occur.

He could now truly say that his life was good.

As everyone hung out on the roof of the Tower, waiting for the fireworks, Tony handed around small parcels to everyone except Christy.

"Noise-cancelling earplugs." he explained. "Don't want a repeat of last year's incident."

"It was a very _loud_ firework." Clint mumbled. Last year's incident had been when he, Steve, Natasha and Tony had all been on the verge of trauma or battle flashbacks after a particularly ear-shattering 'boom' that resembled a machine gun blast.

"Yeah, well, this year they'll be very _quiet_ fireworks." Tony quipped.

"Good." Bruce said, slipping his earplugs in. "I am not hulking out on Fourth of July!"

And as the blasts of color began filling up the sky, everyone was free to enjoy the sight, without the chance of any flashbacks.

Christy had her head tipped up to the sky, a rapturous smile on her face. It stayed in place until the fireworks ended. Bucky's eyes were wide as well. It had been a very long time since he'd seen fireworks.

Once the last 'boom' had sounded, everyone took the earplugs out. Tony grabbed a beer bottle and held it high.

"I propose a toast! Happy Birthday to the one and only, the living legend, your hero and mine—Captain America! Also known as Steve Rogers."

Natasha grabbed a martini glass. "I'll second that. To Cap!"

"To Cap!"

"To the best dad ever!"

Bucky smiled. "To the kid from Brooklyn."

Steve blushed as he looked down. "Thanks, you guys."

Yes, today, life was definitely good.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

It was one of _those_ nights; the kind when no really terrible nightmares were forthcoming, but Bucky still couldn't sleep.

Any other time, he might have woken up Steve and slept in his room, but he'd tried that earlier and the blond was solidly _out_. Considering that a good night's sleep was few and far between for the both of them, Bucky didn't have the heart to wake him up.

So he paced around the living room, running through drills and routines in his mind, hoping the repetition would dull his brain down enough to let him rest.

But suddenly, his ears pricked up at the sound of a low moan.

It was coming from Christy's room. Curious, he walked in slowly, and immediately saw the source of the problem.

Christy's blankets and sheets were all askew, dropping off the sides of the bed like a waterfall. The girl herself was tossing and turning fretfully; shivering a bit in her sleep.

_She's sick…?_

Instinct took over immediately, an instinct born out of being friends with someone who'd caught seemingly every illness known to man, and a few previously unknown.

He knelt down next to her bed and, trembling, stretched out his flesh hand to touch her forehead.

By some scrap of knowledge still left in his shattered brain, he knew he needed to touch her forehead, to check for fever.

_Steve lay in bed, covered in three blankets and wearing all his clothes, but still coughing and shivering. His forehead was burning hot to touch…_

Christy's forehead was sweaty and hot, yet she had pulled what little of her blanket that remained on the bed around her like a cocoon, as if it were the middle of winter instead of the middle of June.

Memory that not even HYDRA could erase made him pick Christy up, blanket and all, and settle her head on his flesh shoulder. She stirred at the sudden movement.

"Daddy?" she whispered, voice rough and choked . "I don't feel good."

"It's Bucky." he replied, just as soft.

"Oh, okay…let Daddy sleep." Christy's voice sounded even more childlike than normal. "He's very tired and I'm not that sick."

_"_ _Bucky, I'm not that sick, you need to go to work! You can't keep takin' care of me like this…"_

_"_ _Shut up, you stubborn punk, I ain't leavin' you. I'll get another job…"_

The memory was ancient, fragmented, but it was there. Enough that Bucky knew what to do.

"You need medicine." he said firmly.

"Ty'l'nol an' ibup'ofen…" Christy slurred. "I think it's in th'…" Bucky shushed her.

"That's my job; I'll find it. You just lie still."

He stalked out of the room and into Sam's next door. He touched the man's shoulder and shook, causing Sam to instantly awake as his army training kicked in.

His eyes went wide when he saw Christy in Bucky's arms.

"She's sick." Bucky stated bluntly. "I don't know where medicine is. She has a fever."

Sam sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "I'll get it. Is Steve still asleep?"

"Yes. And he should stay like that." Sam nodded.

"Yeah, he's had some rough nights lately." The _so have you_ was there in his tone, but left unsaid.

They both walked out of Sam's room and into the main living area. Sam went into the bathroom and returned, carrying two small pills. He filled up a glass of water at the kitchen sink, and walked over to the couch. Bucky had already sat down, Christy's head still resting on his shoulder.

"Hey Christy, wake up, kid." Sam said, tapping her arm. "You need to take your medicine."

The girl opened her eyes blearily. "Don' feel good, Sam…"

"I know, baby, but this will help. Now, open wide and swallow."

Christy took the medicine obediently. She shivered and pressed closer into Bucky. "Cold…" she whispered. "I feel shaky."

"The medicine will kick in soon." Sam promised. He looked at Bucky. Bucky looked back.

"Look, do you two just wanna stay out here for the night? Moving her isn't gonna help much and she's clearly fine with you…"

Bucky thought for a minute and then nodded, slowly.

"Okay, here's another blanket; I'll get her pillow. And yours."

"Okay."

Sam silently retrieved the items. When he came back, Bucky had pulled up the leg rest on the right side of the couch and was lying back, with Christy using his body as a mattress. He'd pulled the extra blanket over himself.

Sam slid one pillow under Bucky's head and the other under Christy's.

The ex-assassin blinked up at him. "…Thanks."

Sam couldn't help but smile. It had only been recently that Bucky had started saying 'thank you' with any regularity. "You're welcome. She should sleep through the night. It's just a fever; she probably picked up germs from somewhere. The meds will do their job." His eyes bored into Bucky's. "She's a normal, healthy kid, Barnes. She doesn't have asthma or any of that other crap that Steve did as a kid, understand? She'll be okay."

Bucky nodded. Logically, he knew that Sam was right.

_But she's small and skinny and too much of a smart-mouth for her own good, just like…_

"She looks like him." he said. "Not just her face, but…" he gestured vaguely, with his metal arm.

Sam nodded. "Trust me; you're not the only one to notice. It's apparently running joke in the Tower, according to Natasha. But she's a lot healthier than Steve ever was as a kid. That's one good difference." His face split with a yawn.

"You should sleep." Bucky said.

"You first." Sam retorted. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Bucky stared down at the suddenly fragile-looking child sleeping on his chest.

"I will be fine." he said, his words as strong as steel. "I know I will."

Sam nodded. "Try to sleep then. If she seems worse, wake me up. Night."

As he disappeared into the bedroom, Bucky started to run his hand through Christy's tangled hair. He worked out the tangles slowly, like Steve had done to him that first night he'd come back.

It already felt like another lifetime ago.

Suddenly, a memory struck. He was holding Steve, who was sick ( _again_ ), and a woman was singing a song…

He opened his mouth and the words of almost eight decades ago came rushing out.

_Gol-den slum-bers, kiss your eyes_

_Smi-les a-wait you when you rise_

_Sleep pretty baby, do-o not cry_

_And I, will sing, a lullaby…_

_Cares you know not, therefore sleep_

_While I watch o'er you, do not weep_

_Sleep pretty baby, do-o not cry_

_And I, will sing, a lullaby…_

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he sang the song, over and over, until at last he drifted off. But instead of dreaming of blood and ice, torture and killing, he dreamed of Brooklyn streets and tiny apartments, of Steve.

Of home.

* * *

After a certain… _interesting_ night, both Natasha and Clint had taken to showing up on Steve's floor in the mornings ("to make sure you're all _alive_ ," as Clint had put it).

When Natasha, who was the Tower's earliest riser, showed up and went into the kitchen to make coffee, she had the presence of mind to snap a few photos of the scene before her on her phone.

Christy was curled up on top of Bucky, whose arms drooped around her like a protective border.

When Bucky's eyes at last fluttered open, he stared at Natasha, as though daring her to comment.

"She was sick. I didn't want to wake Steve. Sam suggested sleeping out here for the night."

"Steve's probably not gonna be happy you didn't wake him up."

"He needs sleep."

"So do you." Bucky gave her his best "Winter Soldier glare." Natasha tossed back her own patented "I'm the Black Widow and you will die" look.

Any ensuing argument was stopped by Clint coming through the front door, yawning and stretching.

"Is coffee ready…well, hello there!" he grinned at Bucky. "That's adorable, man, seriously. Can you stay like that until Steve wakes up and gets out here?"

Bucky shrugged his metal shoulder (the one Christy's head wasn't on) up and down. "Depends on her."

"When she's sick or tired, she hates moving." Natasha offered. "She'll lay on you and burrow in like a cat." She gestured towards Bucky. "Exhibit A."

Clint looked concerned. "She's sick?"

"She had a fever last night." Bucky stated. He checked her forehead and added, "I think it might have broken in the night. I was already awake and Steve was dead asleep, so…" He half-shrugged again.

"Did _you_ sleep?" Sam asked, coming out of his room. Bucky growled in mild annoyance. Sam was forever worried that he wasn't sleeping enough. Christy stirred, so he promptly stopped growling and muttered, " _Yes_. I slept. For more than one hour…maybe four or five?"

Sam looked visibly less worried. "Alright, five hours ain't bad. It's a good start."

Steve finally stumbled out just as the coffee was finished brewing. He glanced down at the couch as he moved toward the kitchen and stopped, abruptly.

And then he smiled.

It was the most beautiful, carefree, _happy_ smile that any of those in the room had seen from Steve in a while. Bucky privately thought that there was absolutely nothing he wouldn't do to keep that smile on Steve's face. And that included some of the less-than-dignifying things he'd been made to do by various members of HYDRA.

"Aw, Buck…" Steve whispered, sitting down on the couch.

"I've got pictures." Natasha added. Steve's smile got wider, if such a thing were possible. This was the only thing that prevented Bucky from shooting Natasha another glare.

The other subject of conversation finally woke up, yawning and moaning. "G'mornin'."

"Mornin', baby." Steve tossed back. "Any special reason you decided to use Uncle Bucky for a pillow?"

"I got sick last night."

Steve's smile grew slightly brittle and his eyebrows shot up, though he was careful not to let any anger show, for fear of spooking Bucky. "And I was not informed, because…"

"You were asleep. You've been up most of the nights the past few weeks, all because of me." Bucky answered. "I knew what to do. Took care of you often enough."

"Yeah, well…" Suddenly, Steve's brain processed the whole of Bucky's statement. "You remember that?"

"Well…I remembered something last night. You were sick and covered in blankets, but it was so cold and I thought you were going to die…"

"That was a lot of times. More than I care to remember."

Bucky hmphed. "At least you _get_ that choice."

"You get it now, too." Steve argued softly. "Anytime a memory comes back, you get the choice; discard or keep. And I can promise that any memory of me sick has a lot of duplicates."

"I'm okay now, Daddy." Christy said, though she didn't exactly sound 'okay'. "It was just a fever. I think it's gone now."

Steve still looked slightly irked at not being told that his daughter was sick.

"She needs fluids." Sam pointed out, trying to diffuse the situation. "Water, Gatorade, tea; whatever."

"Right." Steve stood up. "What'cha want, baby?"

Christy groaned a little. "My stomach hurts, and my throat…tea?"

"Tea, sure. But I thought you were 'okay'."

"Maybe not so okay." Christy buried her face back into Bucky's shoulder.

"You wanna move, kid?" Sam asked.

"No. I like Uncle Bucky; he's a good pillow."

Sam snorted. "A good pillow, huh?" He got up to get coffee, staring at the two figures bundled up on the couch. It took _some_ kind of kid to call the former Winter Soldier 'a good pillow.' "Crazy child."

"She's not crazy; she's just got my good instincts." Steve corrected, smiling.

Now it was Bucky's turn to snort. "You mean your good instincts that nearly got you killed more than once, because you have _no_ sense of self-preservation?"

Steve's smile got even bigger. Now _that_ was the Bucky he knew and loved. "Who needs self-preservation? I always had you to bail me out."

Christy burrowed deeper into Bucky's chest and moaned. "Hurts."

To everyone's disbelief (except perhaps Steve's), Bucky started moving his fingers through Christy's hair. "Sh, sh, s'alright kid. It's gonna be fine. You'll get better."

"When did he become the child whisperer?" Sam muttered to Steve.

Steve shrugged. "He had sisters…and looked after me."

Sam looked concerned. "Are they…?" Steve nodded, frowning a bit.

"Yeah. They are. Trust me; I checked."

Sam shook his head. _Wake up from an ice-nap and everyone familiar is dead or dying…it's a wonder the two of them are still_ _ **sane**_ _. Or mostly sane._

Steve finished making tea and brought the mug over to the couch. "Here, baby. Natasha says this one's good for an upset stomach."

"It's ginger." Natasha chimed in.

Bucky sat Christy up on the couch next to him. She made a protest sound at first, but that disappeared the minute she took a sip of her drink.

"Good…" she mumbled, leaning back on the couch and coughing slightly. All in all, she looked rather pathetic.

"Jarvis…what's her temperature?" Steve asked softly.

"Miss Rogers appears to have a slight fever of 100 degrees. Her throat is also inflamed and her sinuses are clogged."

Bucky frowned. "I thought her fever broke. Guess not."

Steve shrugged. "100 isn't that bad of a fever, but…" he sighed, worry stretching his face. Christy hadn't been sick with anything worse than the common cold in the past two years since she'd been with him, but any sniffle from her would cause panic in him. He supposed it was inevitable, given his own history of illness.

Christy moaned. "I _hate_ being sick. Everything hurts and I feel hot and cold all over! And my throat hurts when I talk!"

"So stop talking." Clint quipped. Christy glared in his direction.

"Yeah, yeah; might as well ask the sun to quit shinin'. I get it, kid. Why don't we have a movie day?"

"Really, Barton?" Natasha said.

"What? The kid's sick; it's the perfect excuse to lie around and be lazy!"

Steve looked at Bucky, who shrugged. He copied the motion. "So what are we watching?"

"Disney?" Christy asked, her distorted voice putting the greatest beggar in the world to shame.

And that was how the Earth's Mightiest Heroes (plus Sam and Bucky) found themselves having a Disney animated movie marathon.

* * *

"Could somebody please explain to me how I got sucked into this, again?" Tony muttered.

"Because the kid looked at you, said, 'please come watch with us, Uncle Tony?' and you melted into a pile of goo." Bruce said, flipping through a stack of DVD's. "Besides, _you're_ the one who's always saying that Steve needs to catch up on iconic things. What's more iconic than Disney?"

Tony's response was an inarticulate grumble.

"Admit it, Stark, you like Disney." Clint crowed.

"Of course I like Disney; you think I'm completely heartless?" Tony cried. "It just…gets a little…sugary. After a while."

"Which is why the limit is five movies." Steve replied from the couch. " _Five_. Is Pepper coming, Tony?"

Tony nodded and rolled his eyes. "How did this become a thing, exactly? Your kid gets sick and suddenly we're all gonna watch Disney movies?"

Steve grinned and shifted Christy where she lay across his lap. She'd taken a shower and was feeling marginally better. "Yup. Guess so. Clint's the one who suggested movies."

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, blame it all on the birdman."

"Which one?" Tony shot back, gesturing at Sam.

Sam spread his hands. "I'm just here for free food. And _The Lion King_."

"Who said we were watching that one?" Clint protested.

"C'mon! It's a classic!"

Bucky, sitting next to Steve on the couch, gently bumped his shoulder. "Did…did we watch a movie…with an elephant? A _flying_ elephant?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, we did. You _dragged_ me to see it, actually, to get my mind off the war."

"Is it one of these? Can we watch it?" Bucky sounded a little more hesitant. He liked everyone in the Tower on an individual basis, but big groups of people could still make him a little leery.

"Sure, pal! You wanna say it, or…?"

Bucky shook his head. "I'm okay sitting still. But if I talk…" Steve nodded and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's alright, Buck, you're doing great. I…I'm really proud of you. Here, hold her for a bit, will ya?"

Steve gently maneuvered Christy onto Bucky's lap and went to help narrow down movie choices.

Natasha flopped on the couch next to him. "She's pretty soothing, huh?"

Natasha Romanoff was something of a riddle (wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma) to Bucky. At the same time, she was also the only one who could understand even a fraction of what he'd been through. This had made for a few interesting conversations and an even more interesting bond between them.

"Yeah. It's nice…being trusted. She's not afraid; never has been. I like it. Makes me think I can change."

"You _have_ changed." Natasha said firmly. "And you'll _keep_ changing. It does happen." she smiled self-deprecatingly and pointed at herself. "Exhibit A."

The front door swung open. "I heard someone was sick?"

"Hey, Pep!" Tony called out, before grabbing his girlfriend by the waist. "You're never leaving me again."

Pepper gave Tony a quick kiss. "Unfortunately, I think I might have to. But I'm here now. And I come with gifts!"

She held up a plastic bag. "Cough drops, vitamin C packets, sore throat tea, and Coke. And popcorn for whoever's _not_ sick."

Christy sat up immediately. "You brought me Coke? You're the best aunt ever!"

"Hey, what am I?" Natasha said, fake-wounded. "She's clearly delirious."

Pepper smiled. "Coke makes everything better."

Steve breathed out a sigh of relief at the medicine. "Thanks, Pepper; you're a lifesaver."

"No problem." Pepper walked over and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. "And how are _you_ doing?"

Steve sighed. "I'll feel better when _she's_ better."

"Okay, so what movies are we actually watching?" Bruce asked. "Cause we really should get this show on the road."

"Uncle Bucky wants to watch Dumbo." Christy said quietly.

Everyone's heads whipped around to stare at Bucky, who quickly dropped his head. Steve quickly diverted the attention.

"We saw it in theaters, before the war. He actually remembered it."

Bruce nodded. "Fair. What else?"

" _The Emperor's New Groove_." Clint said. Most everyone else looked horribly confused.

"That's a _Disney_ movie?" Sam asked.

"Oh, guys, it's hilarious. We've gotta watch it!"

Everyone shrugged.

"Okay, that's two, the limit is five. Next?" Bruce asked.

"Seriously, no one's picked a princess movie?" Pepper asked. "What about _Cinderella_?"

"I like that one." Christy said.

"You do?" Steve asked, a bit shocked. Christy wasn't exactly a 'pink and princess' kind of girl.

"Uh-huh. Cause she's like me. Her parents die. And she still wins."

"Okay, _Cinderella_ it is. Anyone else?" Bruce said. "I vote _Lady and the Tramp_."

"Oh, that one's cute." Pepper said. "It's got dogs in it." she added, for the benefit of those who hadn't seen it.

"I like dogs." Bucky said quietly.

"And, last but not least…" Bruce continued.

"Does it have to be Disney?" Natasha asked. "There's a lot of animated movies that aren't Disney."

"Can we watch _Spirit_? 'Cause it's not Disney." Christy asked, her voice sounding worn-out already. Pepper silently handed her the bag of cough drops.

Clint frowned. "Oh, yeah, that's that horse one we watched when Steve was in D.C., right?"

"Yeah. It's good." Clint nodded.

"It _is_ good. Okay, any objections?"

There were none.

"Jarvis, start playing _Dumbo_ , please." Tony called out, half-shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

* * *

Everybody actually ended up liking Dumbo. Sure it was short, and a little sappy, but it was sweet enough to make them all root for the titular elephant; especially Steve and Bucky.

"Jerks." Bucky muttered to Steve, when the other elephants started joking Dumbo for having such huge ears. "Bunch 'a jerks. Just 'cause his ears are big! Don't mean nothin'…and your Ma woulda slapped anyone who said different; too!"

Steve couldn't help but smile. Those words were so familiar, it was like coming home.

_"_ _Jerks! Just 'cause you're smaller than them. Don't mean nothin'! Nothin' at all!"_

And, of course, Christy cried a little at the "Baby Mine" scene. And so did Steve, remembering his own mother.

The "pink elephants on parade" scene did give everyone a bit of pause, though.

"Okay, is he _drunk_?" Tony muttered. "They got away with some _weird…crap_ in kids movies back then!"

"Just shut up and enjoy the movie, Stark." Natasha hissed back.

As the movie ended, Clint smirked back at Bucky and Steve. "So, you're the elephant who becomes famous." he said, pointing at Steve. "And you're the mouse with the New York accent who helps him get there."

Bucky just gave Clint his best 'Winter Soldier blank face'. Steve grinned. "Maybe…"

* * *

Two minutes into _The Emperor's New Groove_ , and Tony wished it was over.

"I wasn't this bad!" he cried, as everyone snickered at the 'similarities' between him and Kuzco. "Was I really this bad? I wouldn't have destroyed a village to build a summer house! I'm a genius, billionaire, playboy, _philanthropist_ , for God's sake!"

"No, Tony, you weren't that bad." Pepper soothed.

"But the humor…that's all you." Natasha added.

Tony glowered…and then nodded. "I'll take the humor."

When the scene switched to Patcha's village, Clint sat very still and tried to ignore Natasha's subtle pokes.

_Poor guy…I sympathize. He just wants to keep his family safe. And now he's gotten sucked into something he never thought would happen…_

Bruce couldn't help but smile at the ending. It was very metaphorical for what had actually occurred—the eccentric Tony Stark had let people into his life, and it had definitely changed for the better.

* * *

"I don't like the stepmother." Christy said. They were watching Cinderella now.

"She's the villain, baby. No one likes her." Steve whispered back.

"Some people root for villains." Clint pointed out. Natasha shook her head.

"You'd have to be a complete moron to root for her; she reminds me of one of my old instructors."

Everyone gave a collective shudder.

"Okay, have I ever expressed enough sympathy for the severe amount of _crap_ all you people have gone through?" Sam muttered.

Natasha gave a crooked smile. "It's alright, Sam. We're alive, most of them are not. We survived. That's the important part."

"Okay, is it just me, or is the Fairy Godmother a _really_ bad fairy godmother?" Tony asked later. "I mean, she only shows up when things get really terrible. You'd think she would have shown up earlier!"

"She wanted Cinderella to be strong on her own." Natasha said softly. "She only showed up because she couldn't be strong anymore…" she glanced at Clint. "That's what usually happens. Just when you think you're done for, someone gives you hope to keep moving."

Steve bumped Bucky's shoulder softly. Bucky smiled.

* * *

"No, Christy, I am not getting you a dog!" Steve cried. _Lady and the Tramp_ had barely begun, and Christy's 'puppy love' was surging to the surface.

"I could help take care of it." Bucky muttered. "I like dogs."

"A dog might be good for him." Sam offered.

Steve groaned. "Sam, not you, too!"

"I could make her a robotic dog." Tony offered.

Christy shook her head. "I don't want a robotic dog. I want a cute fluffy one with fur, that's _alive_."

"Hey, _robotic_ doesn't signify _not_ _alive_!"

Bruce frowned. He actually liked this movie a lot. Natasha caught the facial expression.

" _Bud' spokoyen_." she hissed. The authoritative Russian made everyone shut up.

Bruce smiled.

* * *

Bucky was fairly sure that he wasn't supposed to get attached to an animated horse. Or identify with one.

Too late. _Spirit_ was more than just 'a horse movie.' It was practically the story of his life—born free, captured, torn away from everything familiar, trying to get back home, back to himself…

Natasha leaned over. " _She did this to me, too. It's no shame if you cry._ " she whispered in Russian.

" _Not crying_." Bucky hissed back, in the same language.

No, he wasn't crying. But he was certainly…what would Sam call it?

_Emotionally involved._

_"_ _Gotta fight another fight… I gotta run another night,_

_Get it out - check it out_

_I'm on my way and it don't feel right_

_I gotta get me back - I can't be beat and that's a fact_

_It's OK - I'll find a way_

_You ain't gonna take me down no way!"_

Bucky was practically sitting at attention as the song played away on the screen.

_"_ _Don't judge a thing until you know what's inside it_

_Don't push me - I'll fight it!_

_Never gonna give in - never gonna give it up, no_

_If you can't catch a wave, then you're never gonna ride it_

_You can't come uninvited!_

_Never gonna give in - never gonna give it up, no_

_You can't take me— I'm free!"_

Christy was singing quietly…and he found himself mouthing the words along with her.

_Can't take me…I'm_ _**free** _ _._

As the movie ended, Bucky felt hope spread over him like a blanket.

He could get himself back. HYDRA wouldn't win.

"Freedom wins over structure." Steve mumbled, grinning a bit. "Not a bad moral. Definitely American."

Sam grinned back. "Sounds like HYDRA's worst nightmare."

* * *

"Best sick day ever." Christy said, later that night. Steve was helping her get into bed.

He smiled. "Feeling better, baby? Your fever's down, that's good."

Christy nodded. "I don't feel hot anymore, just tired. And my throat still hurts."

Steve nodded. "Well, just keep drinking tea and staying as quiet as you can, alright? And suck on your cough drops."

"Okay. I liked all the movies." she shut her eyes and said, sleepily, "I think Uncle Bucky really liked _Spirit_ …"

Steve's serum-enhanced ears caught the faint sound of a punching bag being hit in the next room over, and a soft song.

_"_ _You can't take me…"_

"Yeah…that's good." he whispered. "I think he did, too."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The memories were coming back. Slowly, slowly, Bucky was beginning to piece together his life; childhood, teenage years, adulthood, the war…

And therein lay the problem. The process was _slow_. And therefore _frustrating_.

Memories were elusive things. Sometimes, he would remember a whole event at once. He always loved the look on Steve's face when that happened, like Christmas had come early.

More often, though, he would catch a fragment, a snippet. A blur of color, a snatch of conversation, an impression or emotion.

Those times would always turn into a guessing game with Steve, that either ended happily, or with both near frustrated tears.

Sam would just shake his head and say that he was moving too fast, expecting too much at once. That he should be grateful for what he _did_ remember.

Bucky _was_ grateful—beyond measure. He took nothing for granted anymore—especially not Steve.

But Sam wasn't the one who had to live with blank spaces in his head and the ache of what was missing in his heart.

One night, after a particularly frustrating game of 'guess that memory', Steve had an idea.

"What if we went down into Brooklyn, looked for our old neighborhood? I still remember the address of the last apartment we had. We could see if that would jog any memories."

Bucky nodded. "I…I'd like that." He smiled a bit. Voicing likes and dislikes had followed on the heels of being able to say 'I want.'

"Have you been down there since you woke up?" Sam asked.

Steve shook his head. "No…I just…I wanted to take Christy, show her where I lived, grew up and all that, but…I couldn't." He laughed, sadly.

"It's silly, isn't it? It wasn't like it was even a very nice neighborhood…and our old apartment was a wreck of a place! But I just…I couldn't."

"It wasn't the apartment." Sam said quietly. "It was the memories. They were too much."

Steve nodded. "Way too much." He looked over at Bucky and asked, "So, would you want to go this weekend?"

Bucky nodded again. "Okay." He still looked slightly upset. "It's _annoying_ …" he mumbled under his breath.

Steve snorted. "Patience was _never_ your strong suit. God knows how you became a sniper."

"Wanna watch something; take your mind off of it?" Sam offered.

Bucky ducked his head, the way he did when he _really_ wanted something, but was nervous to ask. "A…A-Team?"

Sam grinned. "You got it, pal."

Steve just rolled his eyes. "You two and that show…"

"Aw, c'mon, man, it's a classic! That thing was my childhood!" Sam cried, as he grabbed his laptop from the table and started pulling up episodes.

"I like the team." Bucky said quietly. "They work together and fix bad situations, and…I like it."

"Like the Commandos. Like us." Steve said, gently. "You're starting to remember that."

Bucky nodded. At the word 'Commandos' the flickering image of men sitting around a campfire, exulting over the latest successful mission would come up in his mind. He remembered the bond, the comradeship.

It had been a memory that not even HYDRA could erase, for he'd always felt incomplete on solo missions. Even when he'd been with a STRIKE team, he'd never been a _part_ of that team. He'd been alone.

Always alone.

He let out a moan as he felt himself mentally start to spiral.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice shot through his painful haze. "Bucky. Hey. Look at me."

Gentle hands cupped his chin, made him look up into Steve's wide, concerned eyes. He shuddered a bit.

"I didn't…have a team. Nothing. Nobody." he whispered brokenly.

Steve sighed, fighting the pain in his heart. "I know, pal. I know. But things are different, now. You've got me."

"And me." Sam chimed in. "And a whole host of very crazy, but awesome, people who would be honored to fight alongside you if the moment came."

"You're not alone anymore." Steve said, his hands moving off Bucky's chin and onto his friend's shoulders.

Bucky sighed and leaned over into Steve's side, like deadweight.

Steve grinned softly. "You're not movin', are ya, pal?"

"No."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm gettin' the kid; she likes this show, too."

Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky's shoulders and pulled him over on the couch. It was almost comical that their positions were now reversed, from how they had been before the fall.

Before, Bucky had always been the one reassuring him; pulling him up when he fell down. Now, it was his turn to reciprocate.

If Steve were being honest with himself, he rather enjoyed the chance to return the care Bucky had always given him.

"You're not alone." he whispered again, running his hand through Bucky's hair—Bucky's hair that was now _trimmed_ , since Steve was fine with Bucky's hair long but _not_ with it looking like a glorified mop.

Bucky just leaned back and shut his eyes. He wanted to seal this in his mind forever, this feeling of not being alone.

Something like bittersweet relief ran through him.

_At least no one can take_ **_these_ ** _memories away._

* * *

After spending all of Friday night poring over internet maps of Brooklyn, locating their old neighborhood, Steve and Bucky were ready to go that next morning.

With one addition.

 _"_ _Take the kid for sanity's sake."_ Sam had insisted, since neither Steve nor Bucky really wanted any of the other Avengers along with them.

Steve had agreed; he'd wanted to take Christy anyway.

Christy was over the moon with excitement, thrilled to finally be able to see the place her dad always told stories about.

Currently, she was sitting in her seat on the subway, her headphones jammed into her ears, humming along to music.

Steve looked at her and grinned. "Well, she's ready. You ready?" he asked softly.

Bucky gave him a leveled look back. "Are you?"

Steve sighed.

"Yeah…I think so." he said. "About time I faced things. I've put it off for too long."

Bucky gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. "Punk."

Steve leaned back and finished the ritual. "Jerk."

He could do this.

* * *

It was just a tiny street in Gravesend, Brooklyn; not the biggest or the best—even now.

But for fifteen years, it had been home.

Steve sucked in a breath as he took in the familiar-yet-not-familiar streets. Because, of course, things had changed.

The apartment building they had lived in was replaced with a newer building; tiny shops had disappeared. But the broken concrete streets still looked the same.

Bucky was looking about, frowning, hoping something would spark a memory.

Christy, however, was gleefully taking everything in. "This is where you lived, Daddy?"

Steve couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, baby, this is the place. Sorta."

Bucky suddenly walked over to a small alleyway and peered down it. "Hey, Steve…didn't you get beat up in this alley over here?"

Steve was about to groan, when he actually looked at the alley and realized…

"Yeah…I did."

"And that one over there?" Bucky pointed up the street, his brow knit in concentration.

"Yes…I think so…"

"And didn't some jerk try and give you a wedgie back behind that…?"

"Okay!" Steve cried, spreading his hands. "That's enough, Buck!"

Bucky looked over in slight shock at Steve's tone…and realized that his friend's face was bright red. He started to feel nervous—maybe he'd gone too far—but then the overwhelming _rightness_ of the whole situation swept over him.

He and Steve had always joked around, _before_.

"Hey, this is supposed to be about jogging my memories, ain't it?" he said, grinning.

Steve just rolled his eyes…though he couldn't quite contain his grin.

 _This_ was the Bucky he remembered—the teasing, joking big brother he'd missed like crazy. Someone who wasn't afraid to cut Captain America down to size.

"How many alleys did you get beat up in, Dad?" Christy asked, incredulous.

Steve looked up and down the street.

"Well, baby…if you see an alley, I probably got beat up in it."

Bucky nodded and chimed in, "And I would have to haul his skinny…"

"Language!" Steve interjected.

"His skinny _butt_ —there, are ya happy, Rogers?—out of each and every one of them, because the daft punk didn't know how to keep his head down and stay out of a fight!"

Christy looked at her dad, and back at the street. It wasn't that she didn't _believe_ her dad and uncle, but…

"You were really that small?" she asked.

Steve chuckled. "You've seen pictures, baby."

"He was definitely that small." Bucky said. "A scrawny little pipsqueak. A _loveable_ scrawny little pipsqueak." he added, at Steve's glare.

Christy shrugged. "Well _obviously_ he was loveable—that's why Dr. Erskine picked him for the serum!"

Bucky actually rolled his eyes at that. "Don't remind me." he muttered. "I'm barely shipped out and what does he do? He signs up to let a scientist experiment on 'im!"

"I was desperate." Steve said calmly. "And besides, it worked out, didn't it?"

Bucky's response was an inarticulate grumble.

Christy looked down and scuffed her shoes. "Sorry, Dad…I think you're in trouble."

"I've been in trouble since 1943, baby." Steve said, ruffling her hair. "This is old news. Wanna try and find our old apartment, Buck?" he added, in a not-so-subtle attempt at changing the subject.

Bucky sighed and let it slide. "Yeah…we can. It'll probably be gone." He looked up the street. "Wasn't…wasn't there a park? And we played baseball?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah, it was right up there. Gone now, but…" he sighed. "Those were the days. When I wasn't sick, things were pretty good. We weren't so well off, but then again, who was? 'Specially after the market crashed."

Christy's eyes got a little bit wide. They'd learned about Black Tuesday in school.

She _knew_ her dad had been born in 1918, had lived during all those eras they talked about in books, like the Roaring Twenties and the Great Depression, but to hear him talk about it so casually…

Bucky frowned again. "We used to play in the park, all the kids, after school. Baseball, stickball, tag…"

Steve nodded. "I usually sat out; all that activity was terrible for my asthma."

Christy still couldn't picture her dad with asthma, no matter how hard she tried or how many pictures she saw.

"And there was that bratty kid…the one who wouldn't stop pulling the girls' hair. And you punched him and he punched you and I punched back…"

Steve couldn't help but smirk at that very succinct summary of his childhood.

"Wait, _what_?" Christy asked, eyes wide. "What happened?"

Steve laughed. "C'mon, baby, let's try and find the apartment…I'll explain it on the way."

* * *

"I can't believe it…" Steve muttered.

He'd been prepared to find the first apartment he'd ever lived in as an adult, the place he and Bucky had called home, gone or derelict at best. Or turned into a coffee shop.

He had _not_ expected it to be a city monument.

A small crowd of people were peering at a plaque on the sidewalk.

_"_ _This spot marks the former apartment of Steven Rogers (AKA: Captain America), circa 1940-1942."_

"They turned it into a landmark…" Bucky breathed.

Christy was frowning at the plaque. "Wasn't it Uncle Bucky's apartment first, Dad?" she whispered. "And then your mommy died, so you moved in with him? Why doesn't it say that?"

"'Cause he's the hero." Bucky said. "And everybody knows who Captain America is. Nobody would know who I was if it wasn't for him, anyway."

"Well that's not fair…" Christy put her hands on her hips. "You're a hero, too."

Steve frowned at the plaque as well. "She's right, it's not fair."

Christy, meanwhile, was down on her hands and knees, rifling through the travel backpack she always carried with her.

"What'cha doin', baby?" Steve asked.

Christy pulled out a pen and a crumpled-looking notebook. "Gonna write a note…"

Steve just shrugged. "See anything that looks familiar, Buck?" he asked quietly.

Bucky frowned. "The street…I can see myself walking. It was late, really late."

"Yeah, you always got home from work late. You were down at the docks, loading and unloading stuff…I was always scared you'd break your back."

"I can see it…" Bucky mumbled. "It was…rough. Hard. Not a lot of chances. No wonder we wanted to join the army."

Steve let out a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, no wonder."

They stayed that way for a while, letting Bucky's memories percolate, staring up and down familiar streets, whispering half-forgotten tales of a life gone by.

"You ready to go?" Steve asked finally.

Bucky cocked his head. "Are you?"

There was more to the question than just asking if he was ready to leave, physically.

Steve had long since come to terms with the fact that he would not be getting back what he had lost. The past would remain the past, and the life he would make for himself in this new century would be starkly different than anything he had ever dreamed.

It didn't mean that he wasn't allowed to mourn what was gone.

Bucky could feel something like grief in his heart as he looked up at the apartment that had once been his (and his first, too, no matter what the plaque said).

It was helpful to have a place that connected to his past. But it also served as a reminder of all the memories he still didn't have.

But he had some, now.

The rest would return, he was sure of it. And until then, well, Brooklyn wasn't going anywhere.

And neither was he.

He raised his arm and slung it around Steve's shoulders. (Like he used to, long ago and not so far away…). "C'mon, punk. You need food."

Steve snorted, and nodded.

"Yeah. Where we goin'?" he whispered, remembering.

Bucky caught on quick. "To the future." he whispered back. "Or that pizza place three blocks back." he added, grinning.

Steve laughed. "You ready, Christy?"

Christy came over from where she'd been standing by the plaque. "Ready."

"Did you take a picture?" Steve asked.

Christy nodded. "Uh-huh. And left my note."

"Note? What note?"

Christy pointed to a small scrap of notebook paper that lay propped up beside the plaque.

Both men leaned over casually…and almost lost it.

_James Buchanan Barnes lived here too, circa 1940-1942 and it was his apartment first. So take that._

Steve laughed quietly. Bucky looked almost like he was blushing.

"Ya didn't haveta do that…" he muttered. "It's better if people don't remember me…"

Steve frowned. "Oh, I beg to differ, my friend. You are as much a hero as me. You deserve to be remembered."

"But for what?" Bucky whispered, the stats he knew from his file rattling in the back of his mind like a judge's gavel.

_Over two dozen confirmed kills…and who knows what else…_

Steve bumped his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "For hauling my skinny ass out of every alley in the neighborhood, if nothing else. For breaking your back, so I could eat. For being my first hero, my brother."

Bucky let the words sink in, sweep over him like water that washed away all the condemning voices in his head.

He sighed. "Let's get outta here, huh? Bet the kid's starvin'."

Christy nodded eagerly. "Can we get pizza?"

* * *

"For the last time, Tony, we are not watching those tapes!"

Steve's raised voice sounded through the Common Floor several days later.

"Aw, c'mon!" Tony sounded annoyingly persuasive. "It'll be fun!"

"You did promise I could see them, Daddy." Christy added.

Steve groaned. "That was two years ago, how do you even remember that?"

Christy shrugged. "I remember everything…"

"What's this about?" Sam asked, coming off of the elevator with Bucky, after another session.

Steve just looked severely put out, so Clint helpfully chimed in. "Tony has some tapes of Steve's old USO shows, courtesy of SHIELD. Steve doesn't wanna watch because they're embarrassing."

"It's not that! They're just…stupid."

Clint sighed. In all honesty, he was severely curious to see these tapes. "Look, Steve, most of us here have had to do something ridiculous because we were under orders…"

Natasha smirked. "Yeah…remember Cairo, Barton?"

Clint spun around, eyes wide with horror. "You swore we'd never mention Cairo!"

"What happened in Cairo?" Bruce asked, predictably.

" _Never mind_." Clint muttered, glowering.

"All you need to know is that it involved a slinky dress and a wig. And several guns." Natasha replied.

"Isn't that like half your missions, anyway, Romanoff?" Tony asked.

"Yes, but I wasn't the one _wearing_ the slinky dress…"

There was awkward silence for a few minutes.

"Anyway!" Tony cried. "This isn't about what you two get up to on weird SHIELD missions. This is about Cap's USO tapes. Which, by the way, I watched as a kid, so I won't even make fun because they're _nostalgic_ , and…"

Steve threw up his hands. "Alright, alright! We can watch 'em!"

Tony grinned. "Yay!"

"You are such a child…" Natasha said, shaking her head.

* * *

_"_ _Who's strong and brave, here to save the American Way…?"_

"Are you reading lines off the back of your shield?" Natasha asked.

"Probably…" Steve muttered, head firmly behind his hands.

Clint peered at the grainy footage on the TV. "Ah…yup, he's definitely cheating. You should've had those memorized, Cap!"

"This was like one of my first shows, Barton. Trust me, I had them memorized later… _trust me_."

_"_ _Who vows to fight, like a man, for what's right…"_

"Oh, so _girls_ can't fight?" Christy hissed. Steve stopped cringing long enough to pat her shoulder.

"Of course girls can fight, baby."

Natasha smiled proudly.

_"_ _Defense bonds! Each one you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun!"_

"How long did it take you memorize that one without failing epically?" Tony asked.

Steve moaned. "I don't know. A long time…"

Sam shook his head. "Who's _writing_ this dialogue, anyway? A nine year old could do better!" he jabbed his thumb in Christy's direction. "'Specially _this_ nine year old!"

Most of the footage was faintly nauseating, cheesy, and full of the typical patriotic fervor. But one scene made Christy pay extra attention.

_"_ _Now, we all know this is about trying to win the war. And we can't do that without bullets and bandages, tanks and tents. And that's where you come in—every bond you buy can help protect someone you love…"_

_"_ _He's right behind you!"_ A voice from the audience called out. Sure enough, a costumed Hitler poked his way out from behind the line of chorus girls. Steve in the video neatly laid him out with one punch to the jaw.

"Daddy punched Hitler!" Christy cried. "Go Dad!"

Steve smiled. That reaction from his daughter almost made this whole ordeal worth it.

_Almost._

"That punch was so fake." Bucky muttered. He'd been keeping quiet, both to spare Steve from too much embarrassment, and also educate himself on what his friend had been up to all those months he'd been in Europe.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Of course it was fake. That guy was actually pretty nice, too, off the clock."

"Still, you did punch Hitler in the jaw. Theoretically." Tony said.

"Yeah…theoretically."

"But you would've punched the real Hitler…right Dad?" Christy asked, her eyes shining. She was staring at Steve, her gaze full of hero-worship.

"If I'd've had the chance, yes, I would have punched the real Hitler, baby."

Christy nodded, satisfied.

The footage ended and Steve gave Tony a careful glance.

"There wasn't any more…?"

Tony grinned. "No, no more Captain Chorus Girl. Just this."

Steve ignored the jab in favor of a sigh of relief. "They didn't film the one in Italy. Thank _God_."

Natasha frowned. "What was so bad about Italy?"

"I was performing for a crowd of soldiers who'd all seen combat, recently; lost men. Suffice to say…these sort of antics didn't go over so well."

Sam winced. "What happened?"

"I…kinda got booed off the stage. And heckled. And had stuff thrown at me."

 _Everybody_ winced.

"It was pretty soon after that, I got the news about Bucky's unit being captured. I went looking for him; you guys know the rest."

Steve's head was hanging low. Bucky frowned.

"Yeah, we know the rest." he said firmly. "You busted down the door of that lab like…like an Avenger. The very first. Saved me, saved a whole slew of guys. Fought Schmidt. Forget the stage shows. That day…that day, you were Captain America."

Sam gave Steve a friendly shoulder punch. "You earned those captain's bars, my friend. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Steve cracked a half-smile. "Thanks…"

* * *

It was late that night. Christy was asleep, Sam was in his room.

Steve was sitting on the couch, staring into space.

And Bucky was _done_.

Something was clearly bugging Steve. It was more than just the antics shown in those stupid tapes. Something about them had stirred up a memory.

So he sat down next to Steve and shoved him slightly. "Are you going to talk?"

"About what?" Steve mumbled. "M'fine. Just tired."

Bucky snorted. "No. You're upset. You look like me, having a flashback. And flashbacks aren't nice. So what's going on in that head of yours, punk?"

Steve let out a long, long sigh. "Something I'd forgotten about."

Bucky just sat there waiting, patiently. Sooner or later, Steve would blurt it out. He'd always done that…

 _Yeah…he did..._ Bucky couldn't help but grin as that remembered fact sunk deep into his mind.

"'I asked for an army, and all I got was you.'" Steve said finally, quoting someone. "'And _you_ are not enough.'"

Blind, red rage slid through Bucky for the briefest of seconds, before he got a hold of himself.

"And just _who_ the hell said that?" he hissed.

"Colonel Phillips." Steve muttered.

The name rolled around in Bucky's brain for a while, before latching on to an image of a gruff, jowly, bulldog of a man.

"He said _what_!?"

"He was frustrated!" Steve cried. "So was I, frankly! Dr. Erskine was killed, and it was either send me to a lab to try and replicate the formula, or do War Bond tours! So I became a _dancing monkey_ to avoid being a lab rat! I'd finally gotten all the muscle and health I'd never had. Finally though I'd be _useful_ for something! And then…" he trailed off. "Not enough. One more time, not enough. Never enough."

Some strange (and yet familiar) emotion shot through Bucky like a pressure hose. And a memory struck.

_"_ _Just tell me one thing,_ _**one** _ _thing, punk! Why you gotta be gettin' in scraps all the time?" Bucky cried, as he hauled Steve away from yet another playground battle._

_"_ _He pulled that girl's hair and called her names!"_

_"_ _Then yell for me and_ _**I'll** _ _come punch him in the nose, while_ _**you** _ _tell the girl she's pretty."_

_Steve let out a huff and frowned._

_"_ _I'm…I'm not_ _**good** _ _enough, Bucky! I'm never gonna be strong enough to do anything!"_

_"_ _Who says it's all about muscles, Stevie?"_

_"_ _Everybody!"_

Bucky sighed. _Why doesn't he get this…? Still! It's been so long…_

"But you _are_ enough." he said firmly.

Steve sighed. "I keep tellin' myself that. It doesn't work."

"Look." Bucky pointed his finger at Steve's chest. "You were enough long before you ever got that serum. You were Steve Rogers, the only kid brave enough to stand up for whoever needed help. And don't you _dare_ let some jumped-up Colonel's opinion from seventy years ago tell you who you are!"

Bucky's eyes burned like fire and if it wasn't for his long hair and the arm, they could have been sitting in that apartment in Brooklyn, all those years ago, for how familiar he sounded.

_You are enough…_

"You don't have to prove yourself. Who you are, muscles or no muscles…it's enough." Bucky whispered.

An open wound that Steve wasn't even aware he still _had_ slowly began to close. He hadn't realized how much those words still stung.

"Thanks, pal…" he whispered.

Bucky let out a short breath through his nose, like an angry bull.

"The _nerve_ of that man…" he muttered. "Just _who_ did he think he was, try'na tell _my_ friend he wasn't good enough! I wish I'd've known…I'd'a punched him; court martial or no court martial!"

The words, the tone… _everything_ was familiar. And Steve knew that even if it took a while for Bucky to remember everything, at least it seemed he'd gotten the most important bits right.

"Thanks." he whispered again.

Bucky stopped ranting for a moment, long enough to wrap his arm around Steve's shoulders.

"Any time."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Steve knew that something was up. Between the fact that Christy was running around with a giant, secretive smile and that Bucky had a soft smirk on his face when he thought Steve wasn't looking…and that Christy had disappeared up to the lab for a good half-hour….

Yeah, something was definitely up.

"Are they planning something?" he asked Sam. Sam shrugged.

"Beats me." he grinned. "Nobody tells me anything around here."

Steve frowned. "I think Tony's involved somehow. Should I be concerned?"

Sam smirked. "You tell me." The smirk turned serious. "But look, Steve, if there's anyone more protective of him than you are, it's her."

Steve had to agree to that one. "He's still the hero that came back from the dead, to her. I still don't think he gets it, how much she looks up to him." he sighed. "He was always so _confident_! Maybe a little too cocky for his own good, but to see him like _this_ …"

"He'll get it back." Sam assured him. "He's already leaps and bounds ahead of where I thought he'd be by now, and it's only been a couple of months. A sense of self-worth…it's not easily regained." he gave Steve a leveled look. "He told me about what you said."

Steve groaned. "I would really rather that didn't get out."

"What, that you had perfectly understandable self-esteem issues growing up and that's why you always picked fights?"

"That wasn't why I always picked fights…"

"No, but I'd be willing to bet it was part of it."

Sam had his 'counselor face' on. Steve knew he wasn't gonna weasel his way out of this one. So he sighed and muttered:

"Yeah…that was maybe part of it."

Sam nodded carefully and dropped the subject—for now. "That was the most animated I've seen him; describing how he'd like to give that colonel a piece of his mind."

Steve grinned. "He's remembered that much—he was always stickin' up for me."

"Have you thought about when you start going out in the field again? He'll want to come."

Steve sighed. "Not really. I suppose I'm just letting that be out of my mind for the time being. I know there's still a lot of HYDRA bases to be shut down; personnel to find. Nat and Clint have mentioned starting to go out soon. Tony even mentioned us possibly going out en masse; making a statement. I guess we'll have to see."

Sam could sense that the subject was closed. He couldn't blame Steve; the man clearly wanted to enjoy 'regular' life while he still could.

"Yeah. Guess we'll have to see."

* * *

"And it all burns? You're sure?" Christy asked, sitting on a lab table and swinging her legs back and forth.

Tony nodded. "Yup, positive, kid. It's all flammable, provided we get the fire hot enough. Which we can totally do. I've even got a flame torch…which you are _not_ allowed to use, by the way, and don't even _try_ to give me puppy-dog eyes."

Christy tried anyway. "But, Uncle Tony…"

"No means no, kid!"

Christy sighed. She wanted to keep arguing, but Uncle Tony was the 'fun uncle', the one who would let her eat ice cream at midnight and watch as he put together blueprints for new inventions (and explain what he was doing). If _he_ was telling her no…

"Okay. I won't touch the flame torch."

Tony sighed in relief. "Good. I don't want you burnt to a crisp."

"And…you're sure the fire department won't show up and get us in trouble?"

"Positive. I have a fence up around the roof already, no one could get hurt. And if anyone _does_ call…well, I'm Tony Stark."

Christy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah; genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. It doesn't mean the laws don't work for you."

The tone…oh, God, the tone was pure Steve. Tony had to bite his lip to keep from bursting out laughing.

"Alright, kid, now go on and scram for a bit. I'll prepare the sacred fire and all that." Christy giggled at his mock-serious tone.

"Okay, Uncle Tony. Can we still have marshmallows?"

Tony scoffed. "Of course!"

_What else would we have at a 'let's burn the HYDRA mask' party?_

* * *

"I'm gonna burn the mask." Bucky said quietly to Steve. They were sitting on the couch, on Steve's floor.

Steve looked over at his friend and frowned. "What mask, pal?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and waved his hand across his face, top to bottom. "The mask, the HYDRA mask. I wanna burn it today. The kid still had it, from when we…we found the base."

Oh. Steve remembered now. They'd blown up the chair but kept the mask and goggles because Natasha had said that Christy would want something to destroy.

Apparently, it _hadn't_ gotten destroyed.

"She found it in her room, the other day. Asked me what I wanted to do with it." Bucky frowned. "I…I almost said 'put it on.' I wanted to…"

He looked so ashamed, like he had just confessed the most deadly of secrets.

"There are days when it's so _loud_ —the programming…" Bucky shook his head, looking anguished. Steve immediately moved to reassure him.

"Aw, Buck, no, no; it's okay. Honest. Look…" Steve gently moved Bucky's head over, so his friend was looking him in the eye. "…when you came back…I was prepared for the worst. And I was the most optimistic of anybody. To have you back and have you remember me…pal, I don't care what weird programming you have left over in your head. I just care that you know me. I missed you so much…"

Bucky nodded, but he still looked so sad. "I keep trying…some days, I think, _I'm almost back, I can do this_ ; and others…" he shook his head. "Others, I feel like I'm trapped and frozen. Never gonna get loose. Never gonna shake them…"

He moaned and buried his head in his hands. "What if I never get it all back?"

Steve sighed. "Then…you don't." he shrugged. "And we work with what we've got. But Bucky…whatever happens, I'm so proud of you. You're… _miles_ ahead of where any of us thought you'd be. Even Sam said so. You're doing so good."

Steve's words shocked Bucky into stillness. Steve was extremely adept doing that.

_I'm so proud of you. You're doing so good…_

Entry number 263 on the list of things _no_ _one_ with HYDRA had ever told him…

("Your work has been a gift to mankind" was definitely a _very_ poor substitute.)

Steve smiled sadly as Bucky bit his lip and looked down shyly. He could swear that his friend was almost blushing; unused as he was to positive words.

Yes, praise was clearly _not_ something HYDRA operatives had been very good at. At least so far as it involved the Winter Soldier. Steve ignored the flash of anger that shot through his chest, thinking about _that_.

"You're doing great." he whispered again, almost fiercely. "Don't worry; you're doing great."

Bucky leaned back and sighed.

"Thanks…" he said quietly.

In this moment, coming from Steve (the person he trusted above anything and anyone), he could actually believe it.

* * *

"Are you sure this is legal, Stark?" Clint asked, frowning at the pit filled with wood and surrounded by jugs of gasoline.

Tony waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah; I checked. It's fine, since there's a fence around the roof and it's registered for recreational purposes."

Clint still shook his head. "I dunno…"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh, who died and appointed you team dad?" Clint smirked.

"Well, Steve's not up here yet, so someone had to step up…"

"Any particular reason we've got marshmallows?" Bruce asked.

Tony grinned. "I'll give you three guesses; the answer starts with a 'C'."

"Christy, Christy, and…Christy." Natasha supplied.

"Exactly."

"Did somebody call me?" Christy asked, as she, Steve, Sam, and Bucky came onto the roof.

"Just saying that it was your bright idea to have marshmallows." Clint replied, holding up the giant plastic bag of them.

"Oh. Yeah." Christy grinned, sheepishly. "I like marshmallows."

Bucky frowned at the bag. "Should I remember…?" he whispered to Steve.

Steve shook his head. "Probably not. They weren't all that popular, and they were usually only in candy. Apparently they figured out how to make a whole bunch of 'em fast and mass-produce 'em."

"But what _are_ they?"

Sam grinned. "Sugar. Pure sugar."

Bucky looked interested at that. Steve smiled happily. Bucky had always had a bit of a sweet tooth, before.

Tony clapped his hands and spread his arms wide theatrically. "Okay, let's get this show on the road! Where's the thing?"

Silence settled across the roof as Bucky held up a bag containing the HYDRA mask and goggles.

"One more thing."

Everyone's head swept across to Natasha, who pulled a small item out of her pocket. "I figured you'd wanna destroy this thing later."

Bucky froze, eyes huge. It was the bite guard he'd worn in the chair, during wipes.

"You _kept_ that thing?!" Steve cried. "I thought it got destroyed when we blew up the base!"

"You blew up a base?" Bruce asked.

"The base with the mind-wipe chair in it." Sam clarified.

Bruce nodded. "Oh. That's alright then."

Bucky just kept staring at the bite guard, his mind whirling in a thousand directions.

_"_ _Wipe him, start over…"_

_"_ _Open up…"_

_Hands thrusting an object in his face. He opened his mouth obediently and let it slide into his jaw. To resist meant punishment._

_"_ _He needs to go back in cryo…"_

He managed to look up into Natasha's eyes. There was nothing but understanding in them.

"Ty mozhesh' eto sdelat'. Ty _dolzhny_ sdelat' eto."

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded.

"YA znayu." He held out his hand. "I can take it?"

Natasha shrugged, and handed it over. "Sure."

"Bonfire?" Christy asked, glaring at the objects, before looking hopefully up at Bucky.

Bucky nodded firmly. "Bonfire."

* * *

"Are you sure all of this stuff actually burns?" Steve asked Tony as the billionaire stoked the fire. Smoke poured out in billowing gusts.

Tony nodded. "I checked. The mask is Kevlar, which actually does burn at a hot enough temperature. The goggles are plastic and rubber; both of which burn. And that… _thing_ " he gave the bite guard a distasteful glare, "should burn too."

"Why are you doing this?" Steve asked quietly. "Helping us out with this, I mean. You didn't have to."

Tony shrugged. "I like a good recreational bonfire. And marshmallows."

Steve crossed his arms.

"And…I get it. A little." he glanced down and frowned darkly. "There's a few things I would have liked to burn, after Afghanistan."

Steve's face cleared in understanding.

"Thanks, Tony."

"Can we rip it or something?" Christy's voice drifted over from where she was turning the mask over in her hands.

"It shouldn't just _rip_." Clint said. "But maybe…" he glanced at Bucky's metal arm and then over at Steve. "Hey, Steve, c'mere a sec!"

Steve walked over. "Yes?"

"Wanna see if the strength of two super soldiers is enough to tear this thing in two?"

Steve glanced at Bucky. Bucky gave a short nod.

"Sure, why not."

Clint handed the mask over to Bucky, who gripped it tightly in his metal fist. Steve grabbed the other end.

"Okay…pull!"

The two men strained at the fabric with all of their might, which was quite a lot. The mask slowly ripped in two.

Christy cheered and pumped her fist in the air as the seams of the fabric began giving way. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Fire's ready!" Tony called.

Steve let go of his end immediately. "Go on, Bucky."

"Kill it! Kill it with fire!" Christy said dramatically.

Bucky walked over to the fire. It was snapping sparks and spewing smoke, and it was _hot_.

"Make a move, Robocop." Tony whispered.

Bucky glanced around. He saw Steve, nodding reassurance; Sam with a smile of quiet pride. Natasha looked stoic but there was a smirk at the corners of her mouth. Clint and Bruce stood still, expressions of expectation on their faces.

And then there was Christy, looking like she was watching the greatest drama in the world unfold.

He held the mask gripped in his metal fist, the goggles and bite guard in the other.

"Make a move," Stark had said.

Words jammed themselves into his skull; words like _obey_ , _be still_ , _no talking_.

Words like _you belong to us_.

But there were other words, too, like _you're my friend_ , _you're safe_ , _I will never let anyone hurt you_.

Words like _I'm with you till the end of the line_.

And after a few moments of mental battle, those words won out.

So he threw the mask in the fire; the mask that stolen his voice. And the goggles, which had hidden his eyes and stolen his identity. And the bite guard, etched with marks of pain and sorrow, which had dulled his screams.

And he watched them start to burn.

"Good move." Tony whispered again, clapping him on the shoulder. "Very good move."

Behind him, he could hear Steve's ragged sigh of relief and then feel a familiar weight as the blond slung his arm around his shoulders.

"I did it…" he whispered.

Steve nodded. "You did."

He didn't even have to say "I'm proud of you." Bucky could hear it all over his voice.

* * *

It turned out that Bucky really, _really_ liked marshmallows. Even more than Christy. Everyone was sitting around toasting marshmallows over the shattered remains of the HYDRA gear.

It was rather satisfying.

"Dude, you've got it smeared all over your face." Sam said, as Bucky polished off marshmallow number eight.

Bucky rubbed his hand across his mouth and gave Sam the tiniest of glares.

"What? Did you _want_ it smeared all over your face?"

Sam hadn't mean the question to be all that serious. But Bucky's face took on a 'thinking' look for a moment.

"Y-yeah, I did." he said, eyes flashing a bit. "I wanted it like that. It tastes good. Maybe I like it all over my face."

Sam blinked slowly and then nodded.

This…this was good. It meant that Bucky felt safe enough with at least him to start testing boundaries. The man's eyes were stubborn and determined, with the smallest bit of fear lurking in the corners.

But he was standing his ground. Who cared that it was just over marshmallows?

Sam threw his hands in the air. "I give up! At least I know you're paying attention in sessions."

Bucky just grinned, and started on marshmallow number nine.

* * *

"Uncle Bucky?"

Bucky looked over. The Common Floor was empty except for him and Natasha.

And apparently Christy.

(Also, he would never get tired of being called 'Uncle Bucky').

"Yeah, kid?" he said.

Christy sat down across from him at the table, setting a piece of paper and a pencil in front of her. "Can you teach me Russian?"

In the kitchen, Bucky could hear Natasha holding back a choke of surprise (and possibly laughter).

"Why...?"

Christy crossed her arms and huffed. "Because I'm tired of being left out when you and Aunt Tasha talk Russian. I wanna know what you guys are talking about!"

Okay, understandable enough. But…

"So why not ask _her_ to teach you?"

Christy shook her head. "Because I want _you_ to teach me. Besides, even Dad knows some Russian."

Bucky snorted a bit. "A _very_ little. His pronunciation is terrible. And his vocab is even worse."

"Yours isn't all that great yourself, Barnes." Natasha shot back. "You sound like a _gopnik_ sometimes."

Bucky rolled his eyes and muttered something fast and low in Russian. Christy groaned.

"See, that's what I mean! And what's a _gopnik_?"

Natasha looked thoughtful. "It's a word people use for a…poor, not really educated person."

"Well, I learned Russian…" Bucky frowned. "I don't remember how I learned Russian. But I learned it with HYDRA, for sure."

"So yeah, from a bunch 'a _gopniks_." Christy muttered. Natasha smirked.

Bucky sighed. "Point is, my Russian…isn't that good."

"Can you say, 'I'm going to kill that guy'?"

"Ya sobirayus' ubit' etogo cheloveka." Bucky replied, not thinking. He quickly realized his error. "Don't repeat that!"

Too late.

Christy frowned and echoed in more-or-less correct Russian: "Ya…ya sobris ubit eto go cheloveka…"

Bucky groaned.

_Steve's gonna_ _**kill** _ _me…_

"Not bad pronunciation." Natasha replied. "But how about something a little nicer?"

Christy shrugged. "Okay, but I gotta write that down first. Otherwise I'll forget it."

"Would that be so terrible?" Bucky muttered.

"Yeah!" Christy cried, scribbling away on a piece of paper. "I wanna _learn_ , not _forget_!"

"How about this?" Natasha tried. "Privet, menya zovut Christy."

"Hello, my name is Christy." Christy guessed.

"Smart girl. Try it."

Christy's face screwed up in concentration as she went over the syllables in her head.

"Prevyet, menya zavout Christy…"

"Good." Natasha praised.

Bucky just shook his head.

" _Did you know that?_ " Natasha asked in Russian.

Bucky shrugged. "I knew it. Don't…think I ever said it." He laughed darkly. "Not like I ever had to introduce myself. What would I have said? Privet, menya zovut Zimniy soldat, YA zdes' chtoby ubit' vas?!"

He buried his head in his hands on the table.

Christy leaned over onto his shoulder. "It's okay, Uncle Bucky. You don't have to teach me Russian. I just thought…because sometimes you yell out in Russian, in your nightmares. I wanted something to say to you. Something nice. Like Daddy."

Bucky slowly raised his head and sighed.

"Is Steve's pronunciation really that bad?" Natasha asked. "I haven't heard him speak any Russian."

"It's not that bad." Bucky muttered. "And I know what he's trying to say. So I don't correct him. I…I know what he means."

Natasha nodded. "Christy, c'mere. I'll teach you something."

She grabbed Christy's sheet of paper and very pointedly moved it out of Bucky's line of vision. Christy came over, looking confused and excited.

Natasha finished writing and showed Christy the paper.

"She can't read Cyrillic." Bucky said quietly.

"I didn't write it in Cyrillic, I wrote it phonetically with English letters." Natasha replied. She frowned, suddenly. "Do you know it?"

Bucky shrugged. "I can read it, a little. For missions. But not write." he snorted, almost bitterly. "Why would a gun need to write?"

"I'm telling Dad you called yourself a gun…" Christy muttered, before returning to sounding out syllables under her breath.

Bucky sighed in muted exasperation.

"You got it, kid?" Natasha asked.

Christy nodded. "Yup." She turned to Bucky and said, slowly but firmly, "V-vri ochen krabry. Ya ochen tibya lublyu."

Bucky froze.

_Vy ochen' khrabryy. YA ochen' tebya lyublyu._

He knew all of those words. Had heard them before, separate, occasionally strung together.

But certainly never directed at him.

_You are very brave. I love you very much._

Christy turned to Natasha and frowned. "What's just 'I love you'?"

"Ya tebya lyublyu."

Christy nodded and looked back at Bucky. "Ya tibya lyublu." she whispered.

Bucky shut his eyes, to hold back the tears.

Because for so long, Russian had been the language of orders and missions; all harsh, barking commands and stern warnings.

That was all he knew and all he could say.

But maybe…maybe there was more. More that he could say and learn and even teach.

Christy was standing still her eyes bright with worry. "S-sorry…" she mumbled. "I thought…"

Bucky gently grabbed her shoulders and moved her against his chest. He pressed her tight, in a sort of half-hug, half grab.

"Spasibo, malysh." he whispered. He glanced over Christy's head at Natasha. "Spasibo."

Natasha nodded. "Dobro pozhalovat'." She looked speculative. "Do you still wanna learn some Russian, Christy?"

Christy nodded her head against Bucky's chest. "Uh-huh. A little."

"Alright then." Natasha turned to Bucky. "You can teach her what you know. I'll teach her what I know."

Bucky nodded. "I don't know much. And mostly stuff for missions…"

Natasha smirked. "She'll want a bit of that vocabulary, trust me."

Christy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Stuff like 'ya sobris ubit eto go…'"

"How about we just stick with basic introduction phrases for now?" Natasha said firmly.

Christy huffed a bit, but eventually nodded. "O- _kay_."

* * *

"Privyet, mena zovut Christy. Kak vas zovut?"

Steve frowned as he came off the elevator onto the Common Floor.

_Is that_ _**Russian** _ _?_

"Mena zovut Natalia." Natasha replied. When Christy stopped talking and looked lost, she prompted, "Go on. Mne…"

"M-myen devat let. Myen navitza musica i probivat' huligany."

Bucky looked like he was deadly close to cracking up. So Steve came over.

"Chto?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"Your kid wanted to learn Russian." Natasha replied.

"Oh?" Steve gave Natasha a half-stern glare. "And what are you teaching my child?"

Natasha shrugged. "Hey, don't look at me, your friend's the one who taught her how to say 'I'm going to kill that guy'!"

"I didn't mean it!" Bucky cried. "Not my fault she can pick up on words so fast!"

Steve just rolled his eyes. "So what were you saying just now, baby?"

Christy smiled. "I said 'my name is Christy, what's yours; I'm nine years old, and I like music and punching bullies'."

Steve laughed. "All right, I'm fine with that. You sound pretty good, too!"

"Spasibo, Daddy! That means 'thank you'."

"I knew that one, baby."

"Oh." Christy frowned. "Sorry."

"It's okay, I'm happy you're learning something new."

Christy showed him her sheet of paper. "I also learned 'I love you,' 'you're very brave,' 'you're my friend,' 'uncle,' 'aunt,' 'mommy,' 'blue,' and 'summer'. Oh, and 'knife,' 'gun,' and 'crazy idiots.'"

"'Knife' and 'gun'?" Steve muttered, looking between Bucky and Natasha.

"That…might have been me." Bucky muttered sheepishly. "But Natasha knew all the friendly words. I had to teach her _something_."

Steve looked confused for a moment, before everything dawned on him.

Bucky had learned Russian ( _however_ he had learned Russian) from rough people and places. It made sense that his vocabulary was limited to things like battle tactics and weapons.

"Did…did you even _know_ …?" Steve trailed off, unable to finish. Bucky shrugged and looked uncomfortable.

"I knew the words. Just never…said them. I have good memories in English…not so much in Russian." he smiled a bit. "Not until now."

Christy elbowed him softly. "Say the sentence, Uncle Bucky!"

Bucky looked even more embarrassed. "It's just an introduction, kid! Not that great."

Steve folded his arms. "I wanna hear this."

Sighing, Bucky shut his eyes and whispered, "Privet, mne zovut…James Buchanan Barnes. Mne zovut _Bucky_."

His lips curved up. "I ya ne oruzhiye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Russian is limited to "my name is", "hello," and "I have no questions." So all Russian is from Google Translate. If any actual Russians would like to give language input, I welcome it. But here's the rough translation of the Russian in this chapter.
> 
> Ty mozhesh' eto sdelat'. Ty dolzhny sdelat' eto: You can do this. You need to do this.
> 
> YA znayu: I know.
> 
> Gopnik: slang term for a very poor person (usually male) with little-to-no education. Something akin to a 'hood' in English.
> 
> Privet, menya zovut Zimniy soldat, YA zdes' chtoby ubit' vas: Hello, my name is the Winter Soldier, I'm here to kill you.
> 
> Malysh: Kid, baby.
> 
> Dobro pozhalovat': You're welcome.
> 
> Kak vas zovut?: What's your name?
> 
> Chto?: What?
> 
> Mne zovut Bucky. I YA ne oruzhiye.: My name is Bucky, and I am not a weapon.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Saturday morning "Team Breakfasts" were still very much a thing. With Bucky in the mix, they were especially important, since it allowed him the chance to be in a group environment that was relaxed and non-threatening.

So it came as rather a shock when, one Saturday morning near the end of August, everyone was startled by a loud thump on what sounded like the roof of the building.

Bucky was sitting down, so he didn't have much space to jump, but Steve still flew over to him anyway.

"M'fine, punk." Bucky muttered at Steve's concerned look, desperately hoping his pounding heart wasn't controlling the expression on his face. "What was that?"

Natasha slowly took her hand off her hip (where her 'secret' knife was hidden) and nodded firmly. "Thor's back."

There were collective sighs of relief as the sanity of Natasha's words sunk in.

"Thor?" Sam asked, looking around nervously. "Big, tall, blonde; scary alien from…wherever the heck he's from…?"

"Asgard." Bruce said absently, glancing out the window. "He usually lands on the balcony outside the Common Floor."

"He's not that scary." Steve said. He rather liked Thor. "He's just a bit…loud. And…yeah, mostly loud."

"Greetings, friends!" came a shout, along with another, closer, thump. The locked balcony door clunked as Thor attempted to open it. "It seems I am obstructed from entering."

Christy ran, laughing, over to the door and unlocked it. "Hi, Uncle Thor! I missed you! Did you bring Uncle Loki?"

Thor smiled and swept the girl up in his arms, in a way few people could do anymore. Christy was getting bigger.

"Unfortunately not, little one. Much has occurred on Asgard of late. Loki had to remain there. But he sent a gift."

Christy nodded sagely. "Gifts are good. Has he been behaving himself?"

Thor chuckled. "Aye, he has."

"Good." Christy turned her face toward the kitchen full of adults. "Oh…this is gonna be interesting…"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Welcome back, Thor."

"Nice to see you, Point Break." Tony added, smirking. "As you can see, we found your replacements. We were afraid you weren't coming back."

Thor snorted, knowing that was as close as Tony Stark would ever get to 'I missed you'.

"Oh no, I am not replacing the Norse god from another realm." Sam said firmly. He walked over and stuck out his hand. "Sam Wilson. I kinda got dragged into this whole crazy mess by Steve and Natasha."

"He fights with Daddy." Christy explained. "He has these giant metal wings and super good vision goggles. And he's just awesome in general."

Thor smiled and returned the handshake. "Well, with such a worthy one to recommend you, I am honored to meet you, Sam Wilson."

Christy ducked her head into Thor's shoulder, embarrassed. "Can I get down, now?" she mumbled.

Thor gently set her on the ground, as his eyes moved to the other person in the room he hadn't met.

Heimdall had been observing, of course, so Thor knew a bit of what had transpired on Midgard in the months he'd been away. He knew that SHIELD had more-or-less collapsed (though he had a feeling that Nick Fury would not just let the organization die out). He knew that Steve's supposedly dead comrade was basically back from the dead.

And given the slightly nervous, extremely protective expression on Steve's face, Thor had no doubt who this man was.

The man stood up, his metal arm glinting in the light. His face was guarded and slightly wary.

"Bucky Barnes." he said quietly, standing up and sticking out his hand. "Steve's…friend."

Thor gently shook it. "I have heard many tales of your good character and valor in battle, my friend. It is an honor to meet you at last."

Bucky's eyes flew open wide. Clearly, this was not what he'd been expecting. He ducked his head and smiled a bit.

Someone's honored to meet me?

"What, so Stevie's been braggin' on me, then?" he muttered.

"In a word, duh." Clint said quietly.

"'Stevie'?" Tony asked, an incredulous tone creeping into his voice.

"No, you may not start calling me that, Stark." Steve said firmly. "And because I know you'll do it anyway, I choose to ignore you when you do."

"Alright, alright…" Tony cried, holding up his hands. "…Stevie." he murmured under his breath, ignoring the super-soldier's glare.

"You want breakfast, Thor?" Bruce asked. "I think we've got enough eggs…maybe."

Thor grinned. "If there is enough food, then I will partake. I promise to eat sparingly."

"Fat chance of that." Clint hissed to Natasha. Natasha thwacked him on the arm.

"Ow!"

It turned out that they did have enough eggs to feed everyone plus Thor. But only just. Luckily, Thor actually did make good on his promise to eat sparingly.

"So what's been happening on Asgard?" Steve asked. "We haven't seen you in months."

Thor nodded solemnly. "We were attacked, by the Dark Elves and their leader, Malekeith. He was bitter and angry against my father."

"Elves?" Christy frowned. "But elves are good guys. A little stuck-up sometimes, but good guys!"

Thor looked confused, and then got it. "Ah. These elves were not like those described by your master bard, Tolkien. There's a reason they're called dark."

"Lemme guess…they're bad news." Tony drawled.

"Aye. Very bad news, Stark. My mother was nearly killed defending my lady Jane."

The room suddenly got extremely solemn. Christy looked horrified. "B-but she's okay, right? Right? S-she's okay?"

Thor nodded. "It was close. But she survived." he sighed heavily. "At any rate, I have been preoccupied with matters of state. But I have come back for a very important reason."

He paused to scarf down a bite of egg.

"Well go on!" Clint cried. "You can't leave off on a cliffhanger like that!"

"Child…" Natasha muttered.

Thor smiled. He had missed this, the banter. It occurred with Sif and the Warriors Three, with Loki, but it was of a different sort.

"The reason is this. After the Battle, three years prior…Loki's staff has been missing, yes?"

Everyone who knew what he was talking about nodded. Sam and Bucky tried not to look completely lost.

"I told you the whole thing about his brother." Steve said to them. "How he tried to take over the world and almost leveled Manhattan, and then he got rehabilitated…"

"In my Tower." Tony hissed.

Sam and Bucky nodded, slowly.

"Well…I believe that the Staff may have fallen into the hands of those we would all deem harmful." Thor continued.

"HYDRA." Steve guessed. Thor nodded.

"You know there is one on Asgard who has the power to…perceive things in the Nine Realms. He has reason to suspect that the staff is in the hands of HYDRA."

Clint scoffed. "Well, makes sense. Mind control staff, mind control organization. Just the tool they'd want."

"In other words…we're gonna have to go on the hunt." Natasha added.

Steve nodded. "All of us."

Sam frowned. "When you say 'all' of us, you mean…?"

"Might be…nice to have another pair of eyes in the sky." Bruce said slowly.

"Might be nice to have another sniper." Clint echoed, glancing sideways at Bucky.

Bucky caught the look and frowned…before his eyes shot wide in understanding.

"No." he said firmly. "No, no, no, no…I can't!"

"No one's gonna make you do anything." Steve said firmly, giving Clint the tiniest of 'back-off' glares.

Clint started nodding quickly. "Yeah, yeah; what he said, no one's gonna make you, if and only if you want to…no pressure, no orders, no nothing!"

Bucky sighed. "That's not the problem. I can't fight with you."

"Says who?" Steve asked.

"Says me, punk! I'm a monster! I've killed, murdered, at least two dozen people, and those were only the ones that got recorded! The memories aren't all back, but I know! I've seen the damn file!"

"But you're different now…" Christy said in a stubborn whisper.

Bucky let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Kid, I know you think I'm some kinda war hero…"

"You are a war hero! You fought bad guys…"

"And then I became one!" Bucky shoved himself back from the table. "I'm the bad guy, okay? The mass-murdering assassin! And I can't change it!"

He stormed onto the elevator, ignoring the protests behind him.

Steve was already halfway after his friend when Natasha grabbed his arm. "Don't. Give him a minute. He's not gonna listen. Same goes for you, Christy." she added.

They waited a few minutes; a few awkward, silent minutes. When Steve at last stood up, Sam stopped him.

"Let me go. Please. He's already used to having me ask questions and delve into his emotional state."

Steve let out a ragged sigh. "Alright. You go. But if…"

"I will text you 'all clear'." Sam assured him. "If I don't text you in an hour, come find us."

Steve nodded tightly. "Fair. He trusts you. So do I."

Sam nodded back, though his mind was whirling as he got on the elevator.

I just hope I can live up to that trust…

Sam figured that Bucky had probably gone back to their floor (technically Steve's floor, but it more-or-less belonged to all of them). Sure enough, he found the man in his room, wrapped firmly in a blanket, sitting in the corner with his head down.

"Hey." Sam said, pitching his voice at a careful volume.

Bucky didn't even look up. "Go away."

Sam shook his head. "Sorry, pal. Don't think you being alone is the best thing right now. But I won't come any further in." He sat down in the doorway, prepared for a long wait.

Finally, Bucky lifted his head. His eyes looked dead and glazed over.

"There's so much blood…" he whispered.

Sam closed his eyes and nodded. "I know."

"I'm never gonna get rid of it…"

"Not by anything you do, no." Sam agreed. "Not even by becoming an Avenger. Stuff like that is cathartic and helpful, but it doesn't erase what happened."

Bucky frowned. "Then how do I get rid of it?"

Sam sighed. "By admitting it. By accepting forgiveness. By believing the truth about who you really are."

"Who am I, anyway?" Bucky muttered.

"I think you know that one by now." Sam said.

Bucky gave an almost-grin. "I know my name. Now. But…I'm not just a name."

Sam shook his head. "No, you're a person. An incredibly skilled, valuable person. A person I'd be honored to fight beside."

"But…I can't." Bucky whispered, shaking his head. "I can't be an Avenger. They're all so…"

"Please tell me you were not about to say perfect." Sam said, disbelief creeping into his voice.

Bucky snorted. "No. Not perfect."

"Look, Natasha's past is at least as messed-up as anything you've done. Stark's nickname was the 'Merchant of Death'. Banner turns into a giant rage monster. Thor…well, I dunno about him, but no one's perfect. Clint's definitely got skeletons in his closet. And Steve…c'mon, you've known him for forever. You know he's not perfect."

Lips curved in a scolding smile, Bucky shook his head again. "An idiot, that's what he is. Always takin' a thousand risks and not thinkin' about if he lives or dies…"

"All the more reason to have you by his side." Sam said quietly.

Bucky cocked his head. "Or you."

Sam sighed. "You first. I think it would send Steve over the moon, to have you with him in battles again."

"Battles again…" Bucky groaned. "Way too many battles. Wanna just sleep."

"No one's making you go."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, but…I want to. A bit. If I really can, if I'm not too far gone…" he laughed harshly. "If I'm really not a monster…"

"Hey." Sam said, quiet but stern. "Down a few floors is a kid that thinks you hung the moon. And only the moon because she thinks Steve hung the sun."

Bucky couldn't help but smile at that.

"If that little kid loves you…how bad can you be?"

The words swirled through his mind like audible freedom, like grace, like…things he'd forgotten.

If that little kid loves me…how bad can I be?

Bucky knew that he was still guilty of a thousand crimes. But maybe he wasn't beyond redemption yet.

"You want a second alone?" Sam asked softly.

Bucky nodded.

"Alright. I'm gonna tell Steve he can come up. That okay?"

Bucky nodded again. Sam gently shut the door, leaving him alone with a whole host of brand-new thoughts.

He stared at his hands, imagining them stained with blood, imagining the screams of victims—so many victims…

"There's so much blood…" he said again, guilt eating at him like a cancer. "I'm so dirty…"

They hurt you, too… A voice echoed in his mind. You are not the only one at fault. They committed wrongs against you, too.

That helped. Bucky could feel a tiny weight slip off his shoulders. It was true that HYDRA had basically turned him into a puppet to accomplish their own purposes.

Did you want to do those things…?

Again, the words shot through his mind, seemingly out of nowhere.

"No…" he mumbled. No, he had certainly not wanted to murder over two dozen innocent people in cold blood.

Then you are not evil. And you are forgiven for what blame is yours.

Bucky could feel his mouth slide open in disbelief.

"It can't be…" he whispered. "It can't be that easy…"

Something bright and warm and…light seemed to spread all over Bucky's insides.

You are forgiven for what blame is yours…whether or not you believe it.

Forgiveness was not something extended every day. And Bucky knew to take what he was given, even if he wasn't exactly sure where it was coming from.

"I believe it." he whispered, tears creeping into his eyes, his heart hammering away like a drum. "I…I believe it."

And in that moment…he did.

Steve opened the door to the room a tiny crack. Sam had told him that Bucky had calmed down…

"Hey." he said softly.

Bucky looked up. "Hey, yourself." His eyes were less wild and his expression was one of…wonder? Disbelief?

Steve walked over and slid down the wall, next to his friend. "I'm so sorry, pal. I shouldn't have pushed."

Bucky sighed. "I shouldn't have yelled. Or cussed in front of the kid." He frowned. Clearly that was what was bothering him the most.

Steve shook his head. "Well…she's heard that word already. I mostly made that rule to put limits on Tony, to be honest."

He felt Bucky lean over into his side. "I…I'll fight with you." he said quietly.

Steve could feel a smile creep over his face. "Ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?" he asked, echoing the words of what felt like a lifetime ago (and technically were).

"Nah…" Bucky said, looking up at him with an expression that was equal parts pride and respect. "I'm still followin' that skinny little punk from Brooklyn, the one who hated bullies and would never back down from a fight."

Sighing in relief (and also happiness), Steve said, "Well, now we've just gotta convince Sam."

Bucky snorted. "I'll trade off on missions with Birdman, if he's alright with it. Someone has to watch your kid while you're gone."

Steve looked over, startled. "Aw, Bucky, you don't have to…"

"Trust me, it's the least I can do. Besides…" he grinned. "she likes me."

"Well, it's official." Steve announced, coming off the elevator with Bucky and Sam.

Christy pumped her fist in the air. "Yes! Uncle Bucky's an Avenger!" she swooped over and glomped onto the ex-assassin's side. Bucky sighed in mock annoyance, but returned the gesture.

Natasha snorted. "Nothing's technically official…SHIELD's gone, or at least in deep cover mode."

Tony crossed his arms. "Look, I don't see Fury popping out of any corners, do you? We're on our own." He turned to Bucky. "Whaddya say, Barnes? Gonna fight with us, the band of costumed freaks? Not like we have a secret club with hazing rituals or anything."

Bucky just shook his head. "Yeah, I'll fight. If you'll have me. Somebody's gotta make sure Captain America doesn't end up crashing a plane into the ice, again."

He gave Steve a glare that was almost paternal.

Clint nodded. "Snipers rule, anyway. Welcome aboard."

"And if you don't wanna come one time, you don't have to." Natasha stressed.

Bucky nodded. "I know." he sighed. "I just don't wanna give you guys a bad name…"

Tony shrugged. "Eh, there's always critics. We'll handle it when it comes."

"Yeah, and I've already got the gold medal in giving the Avengers a bad name." Bruce chimed in.

"Any one of us would be honored to fight alongside you." Thor said firmly. "The past can always be made up for."

Tony gave Sam a sideways glance. "So…what about the Falcon?"

Sam rolled his eyes at the code name. "Like I said, I do everything Steve does, just slower. If you guys are that desperate to have me…" he smirked. "I'm in."

Thor shook his head. "You inspire rather fierce loyalty, Steven."

Bucky let out a half-laugh, half-scoff. Everyone looked at him, puzzled.

"Loyalty, yes." he said, deadly serious. "But there's also the fact that every time I turn my back on this idiot, he's gone and done something stupid. I get shipped off to war, a week later, he's lettin' scientists experiment on him. I supposedly die, and he crashes a plane into the Atlantic!"

Natasha mumbled something indistinct about parachutes. Steve looked over and gave a frantic hand gesture.

Bucky looked at Natasha. "What was that?"

Steve groaned. Serum enhancements. Oh, God, I'm dead…

Natasha smirked, seeming to realize where this was going. "I was just reminiscing about the night Steve jumped out of a plane and neglected to take a parachute."

Bucky's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, did he?" he said, voice deadly quiet.

Christy leaned over to Sam. "I think Daddy's about to be in trouble…" Sam snorted.

"Yeah, and then there was that whole 'not a battle, kind of a battle' between me, him, and Thor and Thor's hammer smacked the shield." Tony offered. "And then he goes off and singlehandedly takes on Thor's crazy brother, who's got magic…"

"Oh, and that parachute thing I mentioned?" Natasha added casually. "He does it all the time on missions."

Steve stood very, very still.

We who are about to die, salute you…

"Buck?" he said, desperately fighting to keep his voice calm. "C'mon, pal, this can't be worse than the grenade…"

"The grenade!" Bucky gave him the mother of all glares. "The grenade can kiss…" Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Christy, wide-eyed and shock-laughing. "…the grenade can die in a hole! You jump out of planes without a parachute?!"

"J-just a couple of times…"

"Nope, always!" Natasha clarified. Steve shot her a glare. "Sorry, Rogers, you're on your own for this one."

"Steve." Bucky said, voice like deadly ice. "We need to have a talk. In private."

Steve gulped. "O-okay…"

The two men walked to one of the back rooms on the Common Floor.

"Jarvis, turn on the recording and broadcasting feature for whatever room they go in." Tony murmured.

"Sir…I don't believe that would be advisable." Jarvis intoned firmly.

"Don't worry, Stark, we'll hear it all the way out here." Natasha said.

"This is gonna be the best show on earth…" Clint breathed, a gleeful smile on his face. He edged closer to the door Bucky and Steve had walked through.

Thor was still looking confused. "I…do not understand. And what exactly is a grenade?"

"It's an explosive device." Bruce explained.

"It was a test, before they gave Dad the serum." Christy added. "They threw one into the middle of a bunch of guys, but it was a fake one. Daddy jumped on the grenade, which would have made it hurt less people if it had been real. Which it wasn't. Guessin' Uncle Bucky wasn't too happy when he found out about that one."

"Let's put it this way." Clint said. "If Loki purposefully put himself in danger, wouldn't you be upset?"

"Of course! He is my brother!"

Clint grinned. "Bingo."

"Steven Grant Rogers, what the hell were you thinking?!" Bucky cried out as soon as the door was firmly shut. "You have a kid! You have a team! You're not this expendable…thing, not that you ever were before, but definitely not now!"

"I have the serum…" Steve tried, but Bucky was having none of it.

"Oh, to hell with the serum! You're Captain America, not Captain Invincible! So stop acting like it!" He let out a snort like an angry bull. "Jumpin' outta planes with no parachute…singlehandedly fighting a creepy alien that has magic…why, I oughta…you idiot!"

He grabbed Steve by the shoulders and shook. "Quit acting like you have a death wish, punk! You're important! People need you! I need you!" He looked at Steve with wild eyes. "What if you died? Then where would I be? Not to mention your kid!"

Steve took a deep breath. "I just…I don't think. I do."

"You never thought." Bucky said wearily. "You always acted on impulse. But this time, I might not always be around to save your not-so-scrawny backside from certain death. So at least try to not kill yourself, huh?"

His tone was calmer but the look in his eyes was still slightly frantic.

What if you died? Then where would I be?

Bucky's words swam in Steve's head. For perhaps the first time, Steve could see clearly the vulnerability in his friend, the fear of loss—fear of losing him.

It had never been articulated so clearly. It had been hinted at in a thousand different ways, before—Steve, quit pickin' fights; don't get outta bed, you're sick; don't enlist—but never outright stated.

"Bucky…" Steve reached over and gripped his friend's shoulder. "I'm not gonna die, jerk. Not gonna leave you."

Bucky returned the shoulder clasp. "You better not. I don't…" he trailed off, almost embarrassed. "I don't think I'd wanna stick around, without you. I don't think I'm as strong as you, Stevie."

And all Steve could do was stand there, mouth agape.

"You're strong enough." he whispered finally.

Bucky cracked a half-smile. "Yeah. Maybe." His tone shifted. "You're still not allowed to be an idiot on missions anymore. I swore to your Ma…"

"Oh, c'mon, jerk, you're really gonna bring my mother into to this?!"

"But if the Hulk can't be controlled or reasoned with, then what's the use…?" Bruce was interrupted by Steve and Bucky coming back into the main area on the Common Floor.

Tony smirked. "Well, well. Look who's still among the living."

Steve glared at the billionaire. "Shut it, Stark." he mumbled.

"Did you call him out?" Natasha asked Bucky in Russian. Bucky grinned.

"Da, i eto bylo veselo."

"What was fun?" Christy asked. "I heard 'fun'."

Bucky rolled his eyes and ruffled Christy's hair. "You're getting too fluent."

"What were you saying about the Hulk?" Steve asked Bruce, in a not-so-subtle attempt at changing the subject.

Bruce grinned, but obliged. "I was saying that it's frustrating not having a way to let the Hulk know 'battle's over'. I know, but I can't make my mind get to his…personality."

"Well, he trusts us now, right?" Tony said. "Because you do. That was the problem the first go-round. We were all still sniping at each other. The proverbial time bomb. We didn't know what to do with each other."

Natasha nodded. "So Hulk should trust us, because you do, Bruce. So if we tell him to calm down…"

Bruce shook his head. "It won't work with that phrase. That's what everybody says. Calm down, stop it, it's okay…" he sighed. "He won't listen to them."

"What about a lullaby?" Christy asked.

Everyone turned to stare at the girl.

"Wh-what? I mean…lullabies help people calm down and go to bed. What about a lullaby for the Hulk?"

Tony scoffed a bit. "What? 'Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep little Hulkie'?"

Christy looked a bit embarrassed, but two years in the Tower had taught her not to be daunted by sarcasm. "Well, I don't see you coming up with anything better!"

"She's kinda right, Tony." Clint said.

Natasha frowned. "Maybe not a song. Maybe just a phrase of some sort…?"

Bruce shrugged. "You could try it. I'd try anything at this point."

Christy looked at Bruce. "You can feel the Hulk inside you, right?"

"Yes…"

"So what does he think?"

Bruce looked sheepish. "He…likes it, I think. He's not angry."

Natasha nodded. "Well, that's good. We can figure out something later."

Sam turned to face Steve. "But seriously, man, we heard you getting the chewing-out of a lifetime in there. I'm shocked you're still alive."

Steve groaned. "Oh, that was nothin'. You shoulda heard him after he found out about the grenade!"

Bucky growled softly. "Don't remind me about that one."

"I do not believe I have heard this tale, Steven." Thor said, a hint of mischief in his eye.

"Tell it, Daddy; tell it!" Christy cried.

Steve looked around, feeling like a cornered rabbit. There really was no way of getting out of this…

He sighed. "Alright. So it happened before I got the serum…"

"Another reason it was so stupid…" Bucky muttered. Steve glared at him.

"Who's tellin' this story, you or me?"

"You, but I reserve the right to interject."

Steve rolled his eyes. "It was in basic training, what every soldier has to go through before getting shipped out to war. We were doing drills. Dr. Erskine, the man who developed the serum, was talking with Colonel Phillips, the guy who was my eventual superior officer."

"Jerk…" Bucky muttered.

"He honestly wasn't that bad of a CO, Buck." Steve said. "He was just frustrated. He wanted a whole army of super soldiers and I really didn't look all that promising at the time."

"Yeah, but he still said you weren't good enough. Even as Captain America…"

"He said what?" Came the cry from pretty much every set of lips in the room.

Steve sighed. "That's another story."

"No, but seriously, who tells Captain America he's not good enough?" Tony said. "Even I wasn't that stupid."

"No, you just called him a lab experiment." Natasha muttered.

Bucky's head whipped over in Tony's direction, and for a moment, Tony wondered why anyone in their right minds had ever dared to attack Steve Rogers.

"We made up." Steve said firmly, laying a hand on Bucky's arm.

"If you're sure…"

"I was wrong, okay?" Tony said quickly. "That was back during the first 'Avengers Assemble' time. We were all spitting at each other like a bag of angry cats."

Bucky nodded, satisfied…mostly.

"Can…can we get back to the story?" Bruce asked meekly. "I don't think I've heard this one all the way through."

Steve nodded. "Okay. So they were talking. Now granted, I'm hearing all this later from Dr. Erskine, but apparently there was some discussion about whether or not I was the right candidate for the serum. Colonel Phillips wanted to pick someone burlier and stronger."

"Which is stupid as all get-out…" Bucky hissed. "Who picks a burly guy to get super-soldier serum?"

"Who was there, Buck, you or me?" Steve said, slightly exasperated. "Now let me tell the story!"

"Alright, alright!"

"So anyway, Dr. Erskine says, no, I'd make a better choice because…" Steve trailed off a bit, almost blushing.

"'Cause you knew what it was like to be small." Christy said. She'd heard this story before. "You would do good with having power, 'cause you knew what it was like not to have any."

Thor nodded. "A rather sound judgement."

"Colonel Phillips said that it was guts, not kindness that won wars, and tossed a fake grenade out in the middle of all of us. And I…may have gotten down and covered the grenade with my body; which would have minimized the blast affects in the event of an actual explosion."

"Idiot…" Bucky muttered.

"What did everyone else do?" Sam asked.

Steve shrugged. "Scattered, I guess."

"So…you literally jumped on a grenade…oh, heck, you really are an idiot." Sam said, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Thanks…"

"But he's a really brave idiot." Christy said, grinning a little.

Thor was smirking. "I can see why this event would cause any elder brother to have such strong emotions. And conflicting ones. If Loki tried such a thing…" he shook his head.

"Can't exactly picture Reindeer Games making the sacrifice play, even after everything." Tony said.

Thor nodded. "Aye, that would not be his method. He would have shot the grenade away with his magic."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "So you get the brother who thinks. And I get the punk who never met a fight he didn't like."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way." Clint said, half-joking, half-serious.

Bucky glanced over at Steve; Steve who was definitely an idiot, but also his rock, brother, and closest comrade to the end of the line and beyond.

He smiled, expression equal parts pride and fondness.

"Yeah…wouldn't have in any other way."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The sound of a car pulling up outside the tiny, suburban house made thirteen-year-old Damian Jackson glance out the window.

Sure enough, an innocent-looking but very familiar black SUV was parked by the curb, sheltered by trees that were half-naked of leaves at this point in September.

"Christy!" He yelled in the direction of his sister Tally's room. Yesterday had been Friday, so Christy had come home with Tally after school and spent the night. "Your ride's here." There was no acknowledgement back.

His mother gave him a look. "Go _inside_ the room, and they might _actually_ respond to you."

Damian rolled his eyes and trudged over to the door. "Tally! Christy!" He flung it open and entered Tally's room.

"We heard you, we're not deaf!" Tally muttered. They were sitting on the floor, where Christy was throwing clothes and her stuffed bears into her duffel.

Damian sighed, pretending to be annoyed. But in truth, he wasn't.

As far as little sisters went, Tally wasn't so bad. Okay, so it had been a little weird after she'd first been adopted, having to share his parents and all, but she wasn't annoying or clingy like some of his friends' siblings. She was bearably sassy, smart and not bad with a basketball (the ultimate credential in his sports-crazed mind).

Christy wasn't half bad either. And she _had_ gotten him Iron Man's autograph. That was definitely a plus.

"Well, c'mon then!" he said, gesturing at the door.

"Okay, okay!" Christy stood up. "You just wanna get rid of me 'cause I beat you at Monopoly last night."

Damian looked extremely disgruntled. "It was a draw! We never finished; mom made you two go to bed."

"Yeah, but I was winning…"

"She was winning, Damian. Accept it, and _move_ _on_!" Tally said vigorously.

Christy glanced out the window behind Tally's bed. "That's weird. It's Sam. I thought Dad was gonna pick me up."

Tally and Damian glanced at each other and shrugged. "Maybe he's busy." Tally offered.

Christy frowned. "Yeah…maybe…"

"C'mon, it's not like he'd leave the country or something without telling you." Damian said firmly. "Not _Captain_ _America_."

Christy's frowned morphed into a grin. There were days that she was very, very glad Tally's dad worked for SHIELD (or, now, what was _left_ of SHIELD), meaning that her friend's family was privy to all (or at least most) of the crazy shenanigans in Avenger's Tower.

"Yeah. Guess you're right."

As the three exited Tally's room, Sam had already entered the house and was talking with Tally's parents at the kitchen counter.

Thomas Jackson, Tally and Damian's father, was a slightly skinny African-American man in his mid-thirties, who wore what Damian (ever the jock) called 'nerd glasses'. Right now, he was saying something earnestly to Sam.

"She doesn't need to go home right now, if you'd rather she stay…"

Sam shook his head. "Nah, Steve wants her home, where he can see her, and for that I do _not_ blame him. Last night was rough…"

Christy immediately ran into the kitchen, almost body-slamming into Sam. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Hey, kid." Sam slung his arm around Christy's shoulders. "I'll explain in the car."

"Is it Uncle Bucky? Did he have a bad flashback?"

Sam sighed. "I'll explain in the car." he repeated firmly. He was not about to get into it right here.

"That means yes." Christy mumbled. She gave Tally a hug. "Bye Tally, bye Damian. Bye Mr. Thomas, bye Mrs. Regina."

Regina Jackson smiled at the skinny blonde-haired girl she'd come to love almost as much as her own daughter. "Bye, sweetheart."

"See you at school." Tally said. She gave Christy a meaningful look, one that meant _tell_ _me_ _everything at recess_.

Christy nodded, tight. "See ya, Tal'."

As soon as she and Sam were in the car, Christy turned to him. "Spill. Please!" she said firmly.

Only the seriousness of the situation stopped Sam from grinning. "So…yesterday, we get this call, from a Phil Coulson."

Ever since Fury's 'death' after D.C., Coulson had been officially managing what remained of SHIELD. He was often away, but he had been back in New York recently; checking in on the Avengers and monitoring the still-remaining (though much reduced) New York base.

"He says, we need to come down to the base, they've found some guy, a HYDRA goon. He was thinking maybe Bucky had recovered enough, remembered enough, to possibly identify him."

Christy's heart was pounding fast. "And…?"

"Well…he identified him, all right. And, I wasn't in the room, but by all accounts…things didn't go well."

Sam looked incredibly worn out and tired. Christy winced.

"Did the guy know who Uncle Bucky was?"

Sam snorted. "He knew. Knew enough to make several nasty comments and started yelling something, some trigger phrase, Steve guessed, before they could get out of the room. Bucky was, _is_ , obviously pretty shaken up. I don't think any of us slept last night."

Christy was biting her lip and gazing straight ahead with a thousand-yard stare. "Did he forget anything?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so…he knew who your dad was, knew me. I said I was gonna leave to get you, and he looked happy, like he knew who you were. So that's good. He's just…not talking. Screaming, having nightmares, but…not talking. It's like the jerk stole his voice."

Giving a thoroughly disgusted sigh, Christy muttered. " _Stupid_ HYDRA. Is the guy locked up?"

"Yeah, he is. Forever and ever…"

"Good." Christy hissed. "I'd like to punch him right in the nose!"

Sam heaved a sigh. "Get in line, baby girl. Get in line."

* * *

Steve sat on the couch with Bucky, a position neither of them had moved from much since about four in the morning, when Bucky had refused to try to sleep anymore that night.

Of course, 'refused' was an interesting term, since he hadn't said anything, just shook his head wildly and stayed out of his room.

Steve was beyond terrified, worried that his friend had relapsed back. He was also furious that all it took were the words of one person to seemingly shatter months of work.

He sighed. "Buck? C'mon, pal, ya can't keep doin' this. You've gotta talk at some point."

Bucky looked over at him and gave a huge sigh, like he was carrying a gigantic weight on his shoulders.

Encouraged by the fact that his friend was at least making _eye_ _contact_ with him, Steve tried his luck a little further.

"What's going on in your head?" he said quietly. That question usually went over better than, 'how are you feeling?'

Bucky said nothing, just shook his head.

Steve sighed. "Are you…scared?"

The look on Bucky's face morphed from carefully blank to thoroughly stubborn in the space of a minute. He shook his head again in a wild, swinging gesture.

Well, that was comforting, at least.

"Are you thinking?"

Bucky nodded.

"About yesterday?"

Another nod.

Yesterday was all Bucky _could_ think about. Images shot though his brain like fireworks, one scene exploding after another.

_They walked into the SHIELD base. Steve was nervous._

_"_ _You don't have to do this, Bucky." Bucky scoffed._

_"_ _I'll be fine. Besides, if I can say something to put one of those scum behind bars, I'll be good."_

_"_ _Okay…"_

_Phil Coulson greeted them inside. "Thank you both for coming. This shouldn't take long."_

_They entered a room divided in half by a thick, plexi-glass wall. On one side was a desk and some chairs._

_On the other side, a man sat on a narrow cot. He was wearing a rumpled suit and looked extremely put out._

_"_ _You can't do this to me!" he cried out, as soon as they entered, not even looking up. "You have no proof…" his head lifted._

_Only years and years of assassin 'training' kept Bucky from gasping out in a combination of surprise and horror._

_Yes, he could identify this man._

_He was one of those higher-up in the HYDRA machine. Not quite as high as Pierce, but high nonetheless. He had been in charge of certain…_ _**administrative** _ _things, when Pierce was busy. Like overseeing the Asset._

_Bucky could blurrily remember this man conducting a few of his debriefs._

_"_ _You know this guy? Apparently his name is John Greyson." Coulson was saying._

_Bucky blinked. "I can identify him."_

_Only for Steve would he ever say, 'I know him.'_

_The man, Greyson, looked at Bucky curiously, unsure what to make of him. And then, his gaze locked on the metal arm._

_"_ _Well, well." he said, smirking. "If it isn't the Asset." His eyes roamed over to Steve. "Captain America's little pet."_

_Steve literally_ _**snarled** _ _and started to lunge at the plexi-glass divider. Only Coulson's firm hand stopped him._

_"_ _Captain." Coulson said quietly._

_Steve relaxed back, but his face was still full of rage._

_"_ _He was in charge of mission details, administrative stuff; nearly as high-up as Pierce." Bucky said, trying to focus on reporting facts, and not on the man's smug face._

_"_ _Are you_ _**sure** _ _?" Greyson drawled. "Awful hard to remember, ain't it?"_

_"_ _Shut up." Steve hissed back. Bucky just closed his eyes and kept rattling off details to Coulson, who was recording his words on a small device._

_When he was finished, he breathed out, shakily, and opened his eyes. Coulson's face had a look of quiet fury and triumph._

_"_ _Thank you." he said. "You can go now."_

_"_ _Yes, run away, Asset." Greyson said, letting out a deranged-sounding laugh. "But you'll never outrun us. It'll always be there, in the back of your head! Every order, every mission, every victim…"_

_Bucky spun around toward the glass, fists raised, but before he could get any nearer, the man cried out, "Klekne!" in a harsh, barking tone._

_In that moment, Bucky felt as though his brain, maybe his soul, had split into two parts. The one part; the sane, free, rational part, was screaming at him to get out of the room._

_The other part, the part that had been tortured and conditioned so many times that he'd lost count, screamed at him to obey the order._

_For a moment, the conditioning won out. Bucky slipped to his knees, to a position he'd been in often: one knee down, the other at an angle, back straight, arms at his side, head down._

_"_ _Bucky!" Steve screamed out, breaking through his haze. In the background, Coulson was saying something into a walkie-talkie._

_And then the rational part of his brain took over._

_He scrambled up, horror coursing through him. Greyson was still letting out that harsh, grating laugh. Steve practically pulled him out of the room, onto a bench, where they sat down—more like crashed down—and huddled into each other._

_"_ _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Steve kept repeating. But Bucky couldn't utter a word._

**_They stole everything from me…_ ** _Was all he could think._

**_Everything. My mind, my actions…everything._ **

**_And they're not even_ ** **sorry** **_._ **

**_Am I_ ** **ever** **_going to get me back?_ **

_That night, he'd woken up screaming. But he still couldn't bring himself to speak. Steve and Sam had tried and tried, but with no luck. It felt as though his voice had been frozen. Thankfully, the kid was away at her friend's house, away from the chaos._

_Around four in the morning, he'd given up. He'd crashed on the couch, pressed against Steve's side while the blonde mumbled words of comfort into his messy hair…_

No, he wasn't scared, not anymore. He was…he didn't know what he was. It felt as though his heart had been sucker-punched and torn to shreds. He was angry, but it was a quiet, grieving sort of anger that put a lump in his throat.

"Don't think about it too much…" Steve was saying.

It was at that moment that Sam and Christy came through the front door.

Christy's eyes were wide and wild, but she did not cry out loudly, or even speak. Obviously, Sam had coached her. She just walked over to the couch and plopped down on Steve's lap.

"Hi, Daddy." she said quietly.

Steve flung his arm across her torso and pulled her back against his chest. "Hey, baby. Did you have a good time?"

"Uh-huh. We played Monopoly. I beat Damian. And Tally, I guess, but Damian called it a draw, 'cause Mrs. Regina made us go to bed. It was almost midnight."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Very smart woman. I've never known a game of Monopoly to end happily or quickly."

"But I still won, 'cause I was winning when we stopped. So that counts."

Steve laughed. Bucky looked over and gave a passable imitation of a smirk.

Christy caught his eye and frowned. She rolled over and touched his shoulder.

"Hey." she said quietly. "I heard a bad guy messed with you."

Bucky gave a tiny nod.

"Are you scared?"

Something about that question, laced with all the innocence and care in the world, broke something loose inside Bucky. "No." he rasped out.

Steve and Sam bit back gasps.

"Are you mad?"

"Yes."

"Do you…just not wanna talk?"

Buck nodded. "Yeah."

Christy bit her lip. "Do you mind if _I_ talk?"

The shadow of a smile crept across Bucky's face. "No."

Christy nodded, satisfied. "Okay."

Steve suddenly burst out with a huge yawn, the chaos of the past twenty-four hours catching up to him in one fell swoop.

"Dad, go to bed." Christy said firmly.

Steve grinned a bit at his daughter's insistent tone. "Yes, Ma." he joked, grabbing a throw-blanket. "But I'll sleep out here, if you don't mind, and save my frayed nerves from anymore fraying."

He wanted to be around, in case Bucky decided to start talking.

Christy shrugged. "Don't care, just sleep!"

"Says the kid who stayed up till midnight." Sam muttered.

"Yeah, but then I slept good from midnight till eight. That's like, eight hours! That's good! You guys didn't sleep at all, all night. That's bad. Sleep deprivation is _not_ good."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Now you sound like Sam."

Sam smirked. "Well _somebody_ needs to sound like me, considering I'm the only sane one around here!"

"Yeah, yeah, the resident shrink." Steve muttered.

Sam started to protest, when Christy asked, "Can I play music? I…I got a song I wanna play."

Steve looked at Sam, who shrugged; looked at Bucky, who sat still and nodded a bit. "Sure, baby."

Christy pulled out her ipod and messed around for a few seconds.

This was probably a stupid idea. It was definitely unorthodox. But Christy believed with every fiber of her being that music had power. It gave words for feelings and made people think.

Besides, she'd had this song in her head ever since Sam had picked her up.

Suddenly, the strong, soulful tunes of a piano poured out of the device. Christy sat still, biting her lip and staring off into space. After a minute or so of instrumentals, a man's voice started to sing:

_Sound the bugle now,_

_Play it just for me_

_As the seasons change, remember how_

_I used to be_

_Now I can't go on_

_I can't even start_

_I got nothing left,_

_Just an empty heart…_

_I'm a soldier,_

_Wounded so I_

_Must give up the fight_

_There's nothin' more for me,_

_Lead me away…_

_Or leave me lyin' here_

"Is this from that movie?" Sam asked. Christy nodded.

"It's from _Spirit_. And it gets better."

Bucky was sitting up perfectly straight, eyes wide. The song made his heart thump heavily in his chest, made poetry out of all his swirling emotions.

Everything it said was true. He felt empty, violated, _robbed_. He couldn't even be sure of his own mind anymore, yesterday had proven that. He was angry, not in the way that made him want to punch something, but in the way that made him want to sob.

He was wounded. He was _broken_.

Maybe there was nothing left for him. Maybe he was too far gone. Maybe…

_Sound the bugle now,_

_Tell them I don't care_

_There's not a road I know_

_That leads to anywhere_

_Without a light, I_

_Fear that I will,_

_Stumble in the dark_

_Lay right down and decide_

_Not to go on…_

Again, all true. Sometimes the scariest moments were the ones in the dead of night, when he would lay in bed and wonder if all this was even worth it.

Suddenly, the song's beat grew faster, stronger. Bucky could feel his heart cry out with anticipation.

_Then from on high,_

_Somewhere in the distance…_

_There's a voice that calls,_

_"_ _Remember who you are…"_

_If you lose yourself,_

_Your courage soon will follow_

_So be strong tonight…_

_And remember who you are…_

A strange, choking sound came out of Bucky's throat as he felt something burst open inside of him. Hope and fear and anger and loss all battled for dominance in his mind.

Finally, he couldn't stay quiet anymore. The emotions all spilled over.

Steve, very pointedly, had _not_ fallen asleep. He was staring at Bucky, because Bucky…

Bucky was crying.

He reached over, half in shock, and slung his arm around Bucky's shoulders, trying to remember the last time he'd seen his friend cry.

Not during the Commando Era.

Not even after the rescue from Zola's lab.

Certainly not when they were growing up.

Never.

Bucky Barnes _did not_ cry.

And yet, here he was, sobbing like a baby, his face a mess of snot and tears. Sam dropped a tissue box onto Steve's lap. Christy sat quietly on Bucky's other side.

"Hey, hey…" Steve said quietly, cleaning Bucky's face off with a tissue. "S'alright. What happened?"

Finally, Bucky looked up at him, eyes ringed in red, swollen and bloodshot from exhaustion.

"They…they just _took_ everything from me. Everything, just like that. And…and they're not even sorry!" He let out a bitter snort. "I didn't expect it, but…they're not even sorry! They think it was _alright_ , what they did to me! Nothing wrong! They stole my brain, they stole my past, they stole _me_. They broke me! And they're not gonna give back what they stole!" He dissolved into racking sobs that eventually calmed into regular crying again.

"I can't stop…" he whispered, embarrassed.

Sam came over. "It's okay. From a professional; it's okay. It means…" he trailed off. "It means you lost something, and you're mourning it." he sighed. "And seventy lost years is a lot of time to mourn for."

"They're never gonna give it back…" Bucky whispered.

Steve gripped his shoulder. "But you're _getting_ it back! You're right; HYDRA, they're never gonna be sorry. Not unless a miracle happens! But you don't need them to give you back your identity—you _know_ who you are."

Bucky frowned. "But what if something like what happened yesterday happens again?"

"Then we'll work through it! But pal, I need you to tell me what exactly happened, otherwise I can't help you!"

For a moment, Bucky was silent. Then, he whispered, "He said 'kneel,' in…some language. It wasn't Russian, it was some other language. It had to be in a language I wouldn't hear constantly. It was a…a universal command, they called it. Something I would listen to, no matter who said it. Part of my training."

"'Training.' Right." Sam muttered sarcastically. "They beat it into you."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah. Basically."

"Were there any others?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked pensive. "Probably only the very obvious ones…there weren't a lot…"

"They might be in the file." Sam said.

Steve nodded. "Actually, that's entirely possible. Let's hope so." he shuddered a bit. "I never wanna see you down on your knees, ever again…" he whispered, closing his eyes in almost pain.

The room fell into an introspective silence. Christy finally spoke up. "Can we get ice cream?"

Steve and Sam looked slightly nonplussed.

"It's eleven a.m.!"

"It's the middle of September!"

"Yes." Bucky said quietly.

"You want ice cream?" Steve asked. Bucky nodded.

Any 'logical reasoning' Steve possessed disappeared in the face of that nod.

"Okay, alright, I'll get you ice cream. I'll get you the biggest chocolate ice cream cone you want." he said, referencing what they'd (re)discovered to be Bucky's favorite flavor.

Steve sounded so eager, so happy, that Bucky almost felt embarrassed. "W-with sprinkles?" he muttered, ducking his head.

"Sure." Steve said. "All the sprinkles you want."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. "I guess we're getting ice cream."

Christy pumped her fist up in a cheer. "Yes!"

* * *

They ended up driving, because although Bucky was starting to get re-used to crowds, they still weren't the best thing for his mental state, especially today. Sam insisted on driving, even when Steve protested that he was at least as tired as him.

"I navigated worse terrain in worse shape." Sam said firmly, getting in the driver's seat.

"So did I." Steve argued back, claiming shotgun.

Sam frowned. "I'm…older." he finally settled on.

Everyone else in the car lost it, even Bucky.

"Th-that's the b-best you can come up w-with?" Bucky stuttered out, snorting convulsively.

Sam shook his head. "At this point, yes. Now shut up and buckle your seatbelts, kids."

"Yeah, _dad_." Steve muttered, causing Christy to start snickering again and Bucky to bury his head in his hands.

Sam just rolled his eyes and started driving.

When they got to the tiny little shop in East Village, Manhattan (and by some miracle found a parking spot), Steve looked back at Bucky.

"Wanna stay in the car?" he asked.

Bucky sighed and nodded. "Yeah…sorry…"

Steve shook his head. "Don't be."

Christy grabbed Bucky's arm protectively. "I'll stay too. I like cookie dough with no sprinkles, please."

Steve grinned and shot off a mini salute. "Yes, ma'am; one cookie dough. And one chocolate." he added, looking at Bucky.

Bucky nodded. He liked chocolate. He had before the fall, and definitely now.

Steve and Sam went into the shop. Bucky let out another huge sigh as Christy leaned over onto him.

"Sorry, kid." he whispered.

Christy looked up, confused. "Sorry for what? I'm okay!"

"You live in a crazy house." Bucky said, regret tingeing his voice. That was his worst fear—not being able to keep the people he cared about safe, of exposing them to terrible things.

But how could he protect people from _himself_ , short of leaving? (Which was _not_ an option).

Christy shrugged and said quietly, "I'd rather live in a crazy house than no house. I'd rather live with family that's a little bit broken than no family at all."

Bucky paused, let the kid's words sink in.

Because she was right.

"And…" he added, "I guess I'd rather be alive and messed up, if it means I'm alive."

"Dad always missed you." Christy said. "Always. He just wanted you back, no matter what." She fiddled with her ipod. "Wanna hear the song again?"

"Maybe…"

Christy grinned and tapped the screen. The strong piano chords sounded out again.

And by the end of it, Bucky knew what he had to do.

Steve and Sam came back out, loaded down with four ice cream cones. For a few minutes, the three men and one little girl just sat in the car and gorged themselves on sugar.

"Okay," Sam said, taking a giant bite out of his cone, "forget anything I said. This was a great idea. Fantastic."

Christy grinned. "I always have fantastic ideas."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure; just don't get cocky."

Bucky, who was slowly sucking his own cone, trying to make it last 'longer,' muttered something about 'planes and parachutes.' Steve gave him a half-hearted glare.

Finally, when Sam had finished enough of his cone to drive decently, Bucky looked up at Steve.

"There's something I gotta do." he said firmly.

Steve blinked, and nodded. "Anything, pal."

Bucky took a deep breath. "I have to go back, to the SHIELD base, and confront that guy. Today. Now. I _have_ to."

Steve looked like he was about to disagree when Sam nodded, slowly. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

Steve gave Sam a glare. "What? You're agreeing to this?"

"Steve, he's gotta face things sometime. Might as well do it while we're with him and the dude's behind bars."

Bucky nodded. "I'm sure."

Steve wanted to argue, protest, ask for a delay, _anything_. But Bucky's face was like flint; stubborn and determined.

"You sure it's gotta be today, now?" Steve asked.

"Yeah." Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face. "Before I lose my nerve."

Steve nodded. "Alright then. Then let's go."

* * *

Coulson looked the four figures up and down, before his eyes settled on Bucky. "You do realize that you're holding an ice cream cone, right?"

A wild smirk crept across Bucky's face. "Yeah. And your point would be?"

"Just…making sure you remembered that part…" Coulson replied, a smile of his own appearing.

"It means I'm free and he's not." Bucky said quietly. "I can do what I want, go where I want, say what I want, _eat_ what I want." The smirk grew longer. "Their worst nightmare."

Nodding, Coulson gestured down a hallway. "There's a guard by his cell, in case there's any trouble. And soundproofing mechanisms in place. I'll walk you down."

Bucky looked back at Steve—Sam and Christy as well, but mostly Steve. "I haveta do this alone."

Steve nodded, tightly. "I'll come if you need...anything."

Bucky smiled, really smiled. "That's a given."

He walked beside Coulson down the narrow hall filled with containment cells, still taking occasional licks of his ice cream cone.

Yes, it was probably stupid and childish to bring an ice cream cone to a confrontation, but it reminded Bucky of the cigars that gangsters used to have, in the old movies.

Plus, he wasn't finished, and he didn't want it to melt.

Finally they reached the cell. Greyson was sitting on a cot, slumped down, much like before. At the sound of footsteps, he looked up.

Upon registering Bucky, his eyes showed a mixture of disgust and utter bewilderment.

"What, are you here to haunt me now?" he hissed.

Bucky just smirked. "Maybe. I had the misfortune of being caught off guard yesterday. But not today."

Now the man _really_ looked shocked. "You can actually _talk_ …" he muttered.

That did it. Bucky could feel something like fire shoot through his veins.

"Yeah, I can. Not that you would have known. You thought you turned me into some kinda automaton. But for all you people were supposedly brilliant, you forgot that you can't make a man into a machine!"

"You're _nothing_ …" Greyson started. Bucky cut him off.

" _Nothing_ , am I? I thought I was the 'Fist of HYDRA,' helping to make the world a better place!"

"A tool…"

"Ah, so now the truth come out!" Bucky's face turned almost feral. "Well, you're wrong. And you can scream all day, but I'll still be myself, and you'll still be wrong."

Greyson gave an evil smirk. "You'll never be yourself again; the programming…"

"Can be broken. Is being broken. Will be broken. And I will be free."

Bucky faced the man square on and gave his mostly-empty ice cream cone one long, slurping lick.

He might as well have given the man his middle finger, for all the sass he put into that lick.

"I'm free. You're not. I will get back what was stolen from me. I have a second chance…and no one is gonna take it from me."

At that, he started to turn around, when the tramp of someone running sounded down the hall.

It was Christy. Of course it was Christy. Bucky bit back a groan; so much for dramatic exits.

"Are you supposed to be here?" Coulson asked.

Christy shrugged. "Dad said okay as long as I'm with someone. And I wanted to see what a HYDRA goon looked like." she said firmly.

Bucky couldn't help but grin at that. He gestured towards the cell.

Greyson was sputtering unintelligibly as Christy peered in at him. She frowned.

Because of course, she knew that most people that worked for HYDRA didn't look like Red Skull. But this man was almost disgustingly normal. Middle-aged, gray hair, pale skin…

Christy scowled.

_What right does he have to look so normal when he's really a bad guy? Why do people who look normal turn out to be evil?_

"What's _wrong_ with you?" she asked, in that particular brand of self-righteous confusion that only children can get away with. "What's… _why_? I don't understand…"

 _Thank God she doesn't…_ Bucky thought grimly. _I hope she never understands. I sure don't…_

"What is this kid doing here?" Greyson howled.

Coulson smirked. "That's classified."

Bucky shook his head. "Leaving. C'mon, kid."

"You can't just _leave_!" Greyson screeched. "You can't just walk away…"

Bucky gave the man a long, hard stare.

"Watch me."

He took Christy's hand and walked out behind Coulson, back to Steve and Sam.

"Ready?" Steve asked, taking in Bucky's triumphant smirk.

Bucky nodded.

"HYDRA goons are disappointing." Christy muttered. Steve snorted.

"What, did you think he'd look like Red Skull?"

"No…but he looked pretty pathetic."

"He _is_ pathetic." Sam said quietly. "People who feel the need to bring others low so they can be high are pathetic."

Christy nodded slowly. "Yeah…can we go home now?"

"Yeah. Let's go home." Steve said.

Bucky smiled, a real smile, not a smirk.

 _Home_.

He'd finally found it. And maybe, just maybe, he would really be alright.

He had a feeling that there would still be some rough patches to work through. He still got nightmares, he still had off days, he still, according to Sam, had a not-so-great sense of self-worth.

But today, he would be strong and remember that no one could take away his identity ever again.

Today, he would celebrate.

"Let's go home." he echoed softly.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

As September rolled to a close and fall began in earnest, there began to be more and more talk around the Tower in regards to tracking down the Staff and shutting down any HYDRA bases they could find. With Christy in school during the day, Steve was freed up for planning sessions.

One morning, while most everyone was in the lab, poring over virtual maps of Europe, Bucky headed into the Common Floor sparring gym.

He needed to get back into shape if he was to be of any use on this team. Ever since June, when he'd found his way back to Steve, and this odd troop of people he considered family, he hadn't been training much. Aside from the occasional 'work out your anger' punching bag sessions, his exercise had been limited to non-combatant things, like running.

Steve had offered to spar with him a couple times, but he'd vehemently turned down the suggestion, visions of their fight on the hellicarier still haunting his memories.

So here he was in the gym, slowly running through defense and offense attack moves and wishing he could kick something besides empty air.

"Your form is good."

At the sound of another voice, Bucky instantly spun around and lashed out with a jabbing punch…which was swiftly blocked and held down by a pale, muscular arm.

Bucky looked up into the face of the god of thunder and immediately started spitting apologies.

"I-I-I…I'm so sorry! Sorry! I thought…"

Thor released his arm, his face registering a concerned frown. "Peace." he said softly, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I'm hardly offended. On the contrary, it gives me reassurance to know that you have such good reflexes, if we are to be fighting as comrades."

Bucky blinked, trying to process Thor's odd way of speaking. "A-alright." he said, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down. "Uh…aren't you supposed to be up in the lab? Going over logistics?"

Thor grinned slightly. "I…grew bored, I suppose. Midgardian geography begins to blur for me after a while. I will leave the planning to the experts and go where I am needed."

Bucky couldn't help but smile at that. Thor had a very confident, "I do what I want" attitude that he definitely admired.

"I also noticed you were gone, as did Steven. I…told him I would find you."

Bucky rolled his eyes in protest. "I'm not gonna run off."

"Aye, but he worries for you, a state I understand well." Thor gestured vaguely. "At any rate, would you care for a sparring partner? I've found it's much easier to practice fighting when one has an opponent."

Bucky tilted his head and frowned. "I…I haven't really… _fought_ anybody, not since…" he dropped his head. "I guess I'm worried about overpowering people."

Thor frowned. "Not even Steven?" he asked. "Surely both of you are enhanced enough to handle each others superior strength."

"Not Steve. ' _Specially_ not Steve." Bucky shook his head wildly. "Not him. Not after everything. I just…can't. Won't. Something like that." His eyes were wide in fear. "If I hurt him again, I'd never forgive myself."

Thor nodded in understanding. "Well, I happen to be near-immortal and exceptionally strong. I doubt you could truly injure me on your own strength." He spread his legs in a fighting stance. "Care to find out if I speak truly?"

A slow smile spread over Bucky's face. "Why not?" His body loosened as he got himself positioned in front of the blond.

"At the count of three. One…two…three!"

It was a decent fight; with both of them having their own personal strengths and weaknesses. Bucky held back at first, the worry of actually hurting an ally still heavy in his stomach. But Thor was so bulldozer-like that he soon had to really put all his effort into his punches, kicks, and dodges.

Thor was strong, but Bucky was agile and good at ducking. The fight dragged on for several minutes, ranging all over the gym.

Finally, though, Thor managed to send Bucky sprawling with a well-placed punch to the stomach.

Dazed and confused, Bucky maneuvered into a defensive position on the floor almost immediately.

Thor was beaming. "Good fight! That was invigorating! It has been awhile since I sparred with anyone who could match my strength…" He trailed off as he noticed Bucky's slightly out-of-it look. "Are you alright? I did not mean to knock you down so soundly."

He held out his hand. Bucky took it and stood up, shaking his head.

"I lost…" he whispered.

Thor nodded, confused. "Aye…but you fought well."

Bucky's head was spinning. As the Winter Soldier, he'd never failed in his missions; to fail meant punishment, meant cryo, meant…things too horrible to dwell on. Things he'd been threatened with time and time again.

"I wasn't allowed to lose." he clarified.

Suddenly, Thor caught on. "Ah…" He clapped Bucky gently on the shoulder. "There is no shame in losing. And no punishment, either." he added firmly.

Bucky nodded, but he still looked troubled.

"Should I call Steven…?"

"No." Bucky's face snapped into a determined look. "No, don't bother Steve. I gotta learn to handle these things on my own. I'm fine; I'll be fine."

Thor just shook his head slightly. "I have a brother." he said, not taking his hand from Bucky's shoulder, his face completely serious.

Bucky sighed. "So…is that code for 'not buying it?'"

Thor nodded, smirking a bit. Bucky sighed again.

"I'm really tired of being afraid. But I've got this stupid, irrational fear that someone's gonna come around the corner, so to speak, and…hurt me again. Not for most things, not anymore. But sometimes…"

"It hardly seems irrational to fear something you endured for a very long time." Thor said quietly.

"But it's _annoying_!" Bucky cried, before catching himself. "Sorry, sorry; I probably sound like a brat…"

Thor shook his head. "I have a brother, remember? A _younger_ brother. But I dare say, if anyone deserves the chance to whine, it is you, my friend."

Bucky sat down heavily on one of the benches that lined the wall. "Just tired of being afraid. Tired of being a wreck." he smirked. "Sam says I'm way too impatient. I think he's right. But it's no fun being broken."

Thor sat down beside him. "But you are _healing_. And in the meantime, you serve as a living testimony to the failure of a foul organization. You cry out that they _lost_! Their plans backfired!"

There was silence for a few moments, as Thor's words sunk into Bucky's head.

"At any rate…" the blond continued, "it is better to heal correctly, though it take a long time, than to fake a healing and still be wounded."

Bucky gave a long, shuddering breath. "Yeah. Guess so." he cracked a smile. "I'm no good at bein' the one who gets looked after. That was always _my_ job." He glanced over at Thor, a question on the tip of his tongue. "Ah…" he could feel his body shrinking back. He growled a bit. He _hated_ cowering, but it was almost an involuntary reflex at this point.

Thor looked over. "Yes?" he said. "Were you going to ask me something?"

Bucky nodded.

"Then _ask_." he said firmly.

Bucky took a deep breath. With Steve and Sam, with any of the others, asking questions wasn't so hard anymore. But Thor was still new, and slightly intimidating. "H-how come y-you don't call Steve…well, _Steve_?" he asked, in a hurried stutter. "N-not that it m-matters…"

Thor frowned. He could recognize the effects of torture when he saw it, and the man in front of him had clearly been on the receiving end of something very nasty. Swallowing the urge to hit something, he replied:

"Midgardian…what do you call them? Nicknames?" Bucky nodded. "Nicknames…some of them run awkward on my tongue. Last or full given names run more smoothly, which is why I use them more often."

Bucky nodded, satisfied at the explanation. "S'just… _nobody_ ever called him Steven, 'cept his Ma when she was mad at him. Or _me_ , for the same reason." He grinned a bit. "Sounds weird."

Relived that Bucky seemed to be calming down, Thor replied, "Well, I suppose your name would sound even stranger… _Buh-cky_."

Bucky's grin got wider. "Oh, no." he said in mock horror. "That sounds ridiculous outta your mouth…just call me James. Please. I'm beggin'!"

Thor smiled as the man relaxed even further. While he was serious about Midgardian nicknames sounding odd when he said them, he'd purposefully exaggerated his pronunciation (or lack thereof), hoping to put Bucky more at ease. Thankfully, it seemed to have worked.

He was curious, though. "James?"

Bucky ducked his head a bit. "My first name. James Buchanan Barnes, that's my whole name. Buchanan's where the 'Bucky' part comes from. Dunno how I got that for a nickname, though. Also dunno why my parents named me after one'a the worst presidents in American history."

As he talked, Bucky's head inched up, little by little, until he was making eye contact with Thor.

Thor beamed. "Well, I think my Asgardian tongue can manage 'James'. It's a good name."

Bucky leaned back a bit and shut his eyes.

"Yeah…it is a good name. And it's _my_ name."

At that moment, Steve came into the room. "We took a break from planning." he said, looking at Thor. Turning to Bucky, he added, "So this is where you picked to hide out."

Bucky's face turned disgruntled. "I wasn't _hiding out_ , I was practicing my drills. Tryin' to make sure I still remembered how to fight." He tilted his head in Thor's direction. "He offered to spar."

Steve grinned. "Who won?"

"Me." Thor reported, a slightly smug grin on his face.

"But I had him on the ropes." Bucky added.

Steve's smile got even wider at that.

A little idea began to hum at the back of Thor's brain. At first, he swatted it away, but it refused to leave, so he decided to at least give it a try.

Bucky was clearly still afraid to hurt Steve in any kind of a fight. But if he could appeal to the man's seeming sense of competitiveness and provoke a 'sibling fight'…it might cure him of that fear for good.

It was an idea would require a healthy dose of tact to present, though, something Loki was more famed for than he.

Swallowing quickly, and affecting his most nonchalant manner, Thor faced the two men. "I wonder…who would win in a fight between the both of you? You both have superior enhancements, correct?"

Steve nodded. "Only, he's got knock-off serum."

Bucky snorted. "Borrowing terminology from your own _daughter_? How low can ya go, Rogers?"

"Hey, if it fits…"

"Besides, if it kept me alive for seventy-odd years, how much of a knock-off can it be?"

"So, you believe you would win, then?" Thor asked Steve. "Since your serum is the original."

Steve shrugged. "Well…maybe." A smirk curled over his lips.

Adrenaline and a previously repressed competitive streak overcoming any reticence, Bucky murmured, "I could take you in a fight. I did it before."

Steve appeared to be catching on to Thor's plan (or at least the general idea of it). "Nah…I still think I'd win." he said, deliberately keeping his tone light and boastful.

That did it. Bucky turned to face his smirking best friend. "You're so on."

They faced each other. "Count of three?" Steve asked. Bucky nodded.

"One…two…three!"

Thor quickly maneuvered himself into a safe position before tipping his head up to the ceiling. "Ah…Jarvis? If you could…"

"I have already alerted the others, Mr. Odinson. They should be arriving shortly." the AI replied.

Thor nodded. "My thanks."

True to Jarvis' word, the other Avengers all started crowding the door to the gym. After Thor explained the situation, it took all of five seconds for Tony and Clint to start a betting war.

As for Bucky and Steve, their 'fight' was definitely interesting to watch. Natasha and Sam, who had both seen them _actually_ fight before, noticed a distinct difference.

Their fights in D.C. had been all desperation; fierce and furious.

This fight…almost looked like play.

True they were wrestling and kicking and punching, but there was no malice at all. Steve actually appeared to be laughing as they moved over the length of the room.

"They're fighting like brothers…like kids, y'know?" Sam muttered to Clint. "Not like they're tryin' to kill each other."

Clint grinned. "Well, let's hope so. And Steve better win, 'cause I just bet Stark ten bucks."

Sam rolled his eyes. Bruce echoed the gesture.

But it was Bucky who finally won, practically body-slamming Steve onto the ground and holding him there.

"Who's got knock-off serum now, punk?" he said, a wicked smile on his face.

Steve was panting and laughing so hard, he could barely breathe. "Y'know, I don't think we ever had a fight just for the heck of it…until now. We never really could before, 'cause I was 90 pounds soaking wet, with asthma, and we didn't have the chance in Europe…"

As Bucky suddenly seemed to process the last ten or so minutes, he turned around abruptly. "Thor, did you set us up…?" his eyes got wide as he noticed the crowd gathered behind them.

Thor grinned. "Guilty as charged."

"You owe me ten bucks." Tony said to Clint. Clint groaned.

"C'mon, Steve, you had to let me down?"

Steve shrugged. "He won, fair and square." he replied, looping his arm around Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky's heart was pounding fast…and not just from the fight. Fight? Was that even the right word?

"I didn't hurt you…" he whispered, as everyone started making their way out of the gym.

Steve smiled a bit. "Dunno about that…my back's gonna be pretty sore, no thanks to you. Did you have to tackle me that hard?"

"But I could have _really_ hurt you! And I didn't…"

Steve finally caught what Bucky was trying to articulate. "Did you _wanna_ hurt me?"

"No!"

"Then…you didn't." Steve shrugged. "Simple as that."

Bucky shook his head. Was that _it_? Had all his fears been for nothing? He could practically see them dissipating into smoke, blown away by the sound of Steve's panting laughter.

For the first time in a long time, he felt in control of himself. There was no one superintending his fights anymore; he could stop or start as he pleased.

He could harm or hold back as he pleased. No more orders. No more punishment for failure.

The Winter Soldier was gone. And only Bucky Barnes remained.

"Yeah…" he said quietly. "Guess it really is simple as that."

* * *

On the Common Floor a few days later, a man sat in one of the over-sized chairs, waiting.

He was smiling to himself as he did so, getting ready for the inevitable hubbub that always seemed to occur whenever he was around the Avengers. It was almost odd that no one had discovered him yet.

It was a need to discuss important matters that had brought him around. But he couldn't deny that he felt almost at home here, after so many months on the run.

_Well, this is going to be interesting…_

* * *

It was a Friday night and everyone was scattered in various places around the Tower.

Tony, for instance, was working in the lab when Jarvis suddenly said, "Sir, there's a visitor currently waiting for you on the Common Floor."

Tony frowned and stood up immediately. Jarvis had said _visitor_ , not _threat_ , so there shouldn't be any danger, but still… "For just me?"

"No, sir; for all of the Avengers." Jarvis put special emphasis on the word _all_.

Tony's frown deepened. "Tell everybody to get up here ASAP."

It took about five or so minutes for everyone (Bucky, Sam, and Christy included) to assemble themselves in the lab.

"What's going on?" Bruce asked.

Tony shrugged. "Dunno. All Jarvis said was we have a visitor waiting on the Common Floor. For _all_ of us."

Natasha frowned. "He said _visitor_ …"

"I don't think it's a threat." Tony said. "There'd be an alert if it was a threat."

Steve stepped up to the proverbial 'team leader plate'. "Well, if it's not a threat, then we'd better go check it out." He gestured towards the sloping staircase that led down to the Common Floor.

Bucky shrugged, and moved to follow Steve. Everyone else followed suit.

The Common Floor was mostly shrouded in darkness…except for one small lamp that shone on their 'guest' like a makeshift spotlight.

Everyone stared.

Christy, predictably, was the first to recover. "Uncle Nick! You're back!" she cried, hurling herself over to the seated figure. "But why are all the lights off?"

Nick Fury gave an exaggerated shrug. "Figured it'd be more dramatic or something…"

Steve came over, rolling his eyes. "I think I'm having déjà vu. Welcome back, Nick."

Natasha and Clint came over next. "Nice to see you among the living, boss." Clint said. "We heard some nasty stuff while you all were up in D.C."

"Yeah, next time you try and pull something like that, give us a warning." Tony chimed in.

Fury rolled his eyes. "I had to make sure everyone believed I was dead. It was safer that way." He gave Natasha a look. "It wasn't 'cause I didn't trust anyone in particular…well, I _didn't_ trust some people. But not you. It was just the way things worked out. And I'm almost sorry they did work out that way, if they made you think I was gone for good."

Natasha nodded, but her eyes held a look of relief. Fury's 'death' had shaken her up a lot more than she'd cared to admit. "Well, I still might have appreciated a memo."

Fury smiled, actually smiled. "I'll try and remember that next time." He turned to Sam. "You still hangin' around with these no-accounts, Wilson?"

Sam grinned. "Yes, sir. I'm kinda likin' the crazy train."

"Sam's the _best_ , 'cause he's _sane_." Christy chimed in.

"Oh, and _I'm_ crazy?" Steve asked, fake-wounded.

"Yup! You're all crazy! Includin' me!"

Everyone laughed at that, even Fury.

Bucky, who'd been lurking toward the back of the crowd, suddenly came forward.

"I…I t-think I s-shot y-you…" he mumbled, eyes on the ground. Steve placed a protective hand on his shoulder, and Christy grabbed his hand. The room was suddenly silent.

Fury nodded. "Yeah. You did."

There was some more awkward silence as Bruce turned on the lights in the background.

Bucky squared his shoulders. "W-what do you want from me?"

Fury looked pensive. "Don't really want anything _from_ you. I've got an offer _for_ you, though. And unlike your previous handlers, I'm gonna _ask_ you if you want it."

And then, Fury did the last thing anyone in the room expected.

"Y'know…that was a pretty decent shot you made. It takes a real good sniper to get close enough to kill me, and you managed to do it. Temporarily, of course, but you did it. It was a job well done. Perfect angle, perfect surprise attack…you did everything right."

Bucky looked like someone had just pulled the floor out from under him.

"I…I did a _good job_?" he stuttered, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. "Y-you're _congratulating_ me…on _killing_ you right?"

Fury smirked. "Well, yeah. I mean, you did. 'Kill' me right, I mean."

Bucky's jaw had actually dropped by this point, shocked as he was. It took the faint sound of Christy's giggling to bring him back into focus.

He leaned down to face the kid. "And what's so funny?" he asked, trying (and failing) to sound at least a tiny bit threatening.

No such luck. Christy just kept laughing. "Y-your…your face! It was funny!"

Managing a small smile, Bucky muttered, "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly used to any of my ex-targets telling me I did a good job of killing them."

"Almost killing." Tony cut in.

Bucky nodded. "Yeah…almost. So I really did a terrible job, then, for an assassin, anyway."

Natasha clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Well, from one ex-assassin to another…thanks for failing."

Her tone was mostly joking, but there was a fierce undercurrent of seriousness to her words.

Sam was shaking his head in the background, mouthing 'crazy train' to Bruce and Clint. Both smirked back. Thor just stood stoically; these matters didn't exactly concern him, but he wasn't going to just _leave_.

Fury shook his head, trying to hold back laughter. _Crazy train, indeed_. " _Anyway_. I _suppose_ you're all wondering why I decided to show my ugly mug back around here again. Well, I may be AWOL, but I'm not blind. Or deaf. And I've heard that my Avengers are starting to assemble—and all on their own this time."

Tony snorted. "Who said we were _your_ Avengers?"

Fury shrugged. "My idea. I admit it's kinda run off on its own, but it was still my idea first. The idea that we could assemble a team of unordinary people to fight the battles the rest of us never could." He glanced up at the group. "And it looks like you've been doing some recruiting."

Looking at Sam and Bucky specifically, he continued. "I know that I'm not technically head of SHIELD anymore, not head of _anything_ anymore. But I like to know my allies. So now, _officially_ …are you two in?"

Sam nodded almost at once. "I've been in ever since D.C. I think you know that."

Fury nodded back. "Then welcome aboard. And you, Sergeant?"

Bucky stiffened a bit, being addressed by his old army title. But he knew his answer. He'd made up his mind almost a month ago.

"If you want me, you can have me."

Fury's face was an inscrutable mask. "The Winter Soldier, most feared assassin of the Cold War and beyond. The ghost story. Responsible for over two-dozen confirmed kills. You sure you wanna be an Avenger?"

 _Are you sure you_ _ **can**_ _be an Avenger?_ The tone suggested.

Steve's eyes narrowed slightly, ready to step in if things got ugly.

Bucky shrugged. "Doesn't look like your criteria is all that strict." he said, gesturing around the room.

Fury couldn't help but smirk at that one. "True."

"And…I'm done. Done hiding, done being broken. Not done getting fixed, but…" he spread his hands. "…who is? I'm ready to fight." He glanced at Steve. "Ready to follow the not-so-skinny punk from Brooklyn into the jaws of death, again."

Fury nodded. "I suppose these idiots could use another good sniper." Clint gave a quiet 'yes!' in the back, making Bucky smile.

"We might not go out all the time." Sam warned. "Or we might trade off. 'Cause _someone's_ gotta watch the kid so Steve's not worrying his brain into the freak-out zone."

"Sounds fair." Fury turned to Steve. "And…you're okay with this?"

Steve nodded firmly. "There's nobody I'd trust more."

"Well, alright then. But really, I just wanted to know what was happening; I'm not _really_ in charge anymore. Just a lonely old man…" The room erupted in laughter.

"Lonely old man, my _ass_." Tony hissed. Bruce swatted his arm and jerked his head at Christy.

"Yeah, no one's really buying that, boss. Is that the shtick you've been using in Europe?" Natasha asked.

Fury smirked. "You'd be surprised how well it works. Act like a nobody, get ignored like a nobody." He rooted around in his pocket. "Still got this, though, in case I ever get tired of blending in."

He held up an eye-patch. It was a bit faded, but still very bright. And very much tie-died.

Christy squealed. "You still have my eye-patch! But what happened to the other two?"

"I look terrible in stripes and polka-dots. But this one…this one kinda grew on me."

Sam, Bucky, and Thor were shooting each other 'what the heck is going on' looks.

"She got him three extremely gaudy eye-patches for her first Christmas in the Tower." Steve explained. "At Clint's suggestion, I might add."

Clint groaned. "Really, Cap? You _had_ to spoil the secret…"

Fury rolled his eyes. "I already figured it was you, Barton."

"You got him a tie-die eye-patch?" Sam clarified.

Christy nodded. "I thought it was a good idea."

Sam snorted. "You would."

Natasha shook her head. "Well, this is good times, Nick, but did you seriously _just_ come around to green-light the second string of Avengers?"

Bucky drew himself up. "Who you callin' _second-string_ , Romanoff?"

"Well, you weren't around for the first round of things…"

"From all I've heard, that was a _good_ thing." Sam chimed in. "I think 'bag of angry cats' was the phrase Stark used."

Fury smirked. "Sounds about accurate." The smirk softened. "And yet…it somehow worked. Let's hope it'll work again. 'Cause something tells me things are about to get a whole lot weirder before they get calmer."

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you don't know anything?"

Bucky had cornered Sam in the kitchen on their floor. Something was up, and he didn't like being out of the loop.

Sam spread his hands out. "Look, man, I have _no_ idea. All I know is, Steve's been making phone calls, Tony's been making phone calls, and Christy looks like the cat that ate the canary. So, and I'm just guessin' here, it's _probably_ a _good thing_!"

Bucky rolled his eyes, but nodded. "I guess so…"

Sam quickly changed the subject. "So…you ready for next week?"

The Avengers had received a tip-off regarding a small splinter-group of HYDRA personnel holed up in an old base in Ukraine. They were headed out in less than a week, with Sam electing to remain behind with Christy for this go-round.

Bucky nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be." he smiled. "Is it bad that I almost _want_ someone to recognize me, just to scare the hell out of them?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah. I don't think so. But if that does happen…please have Stark get a picture or something, 'cause that would be hilarious."

Bucky smirked. "Oh, it will be. It's the reason I kept the code name."

On the night of Fury's visit a couple weeks prior, Christy (being Christy) had brought up the topic of what Bucky's 'superhero' name was going to be.

_"_ _Everybody's got a code name, even Sam! So what's yours gonna be?"_

There had been a lot of hemming and hawing and deliberation. But in the end, Bucky had decided to keep the name.

_"'_ _The Winter Soldier…' The guy who goes out in the freezing cold and does all the stuff nobody else wants to. That works for the good guys just as well as for the bad guys, yeah?"_

Besides, it was a good way to confuse the heck out of any remaining HYDRA personnel.

_You steal my mind…I steal it back, and keep your code name for good measure._

* * *

"Hey, Bucky? I…I got something for ya."

Bucky looked up from where he was sitting on the sofa. Sam looked over from the kitchen, a poker face fully in place.

Christy, meanwhile, was sitting in one of the over-sized chairs, grinning her heart out.

Yeah, the kid had no subtlety whatsoever…

_Like father, like daughter._

Steve looked equal parts nervous and excited as he held out a large, squishy-looking package. "It's for you." he repeated.

Bucky took the package and stared at it for a moment.

It had been a very, _very_ long time since he'd gotten a present of any sort.

"You rip off the wrapping part…" Christy muttered. Bucky shot her a half-hearted glare.

"I _know_ , kid."

"Christy, be patient." Steve said in a warning tone.

"Alright, alright…"

Bucky slowly tore away the brown packaging in neat strips. Some strange habit left over from the wrong century urged him to save the paper, but he pushed it aside and focused on the gift itself.

It was a dark, navy blue jacket, cut in a military style. Silver buttons ran up the front, creating a triangle-looking shape in the middle.

He fingered the fabric carefully, as though it would disappear if he touched it too roughly.

At last, he looked up at Steve. "I know this…this was _mine_. But how…?"

Steve bowed his head. "Apparently they found it in the snow, or something; after you fell. Guess whoever found you musta taken it off. It was in the Smithsonian, along with my old uniform; _everybody's_ old uniform. But it doesn't belong there anymore." he cracked a half-smile. "The ghost story and the living legend are back from the dead."

"Wanna try it on?" Sam offered.

Bucky nodded quickly and stood up. He was only wearing a t-shirt, so he slipped the jacket over the thin garment, carefully working his metal arm into the sleeve.

"It fits…" he whispered.

"Tony re-structured it a bit." Steve said, something like bittersweet happiness misting over his eyes.

Bucky buttoned up the front, turning down one side of the front into a collar.

"Looks good." Sam said quietly. Christy, for once, was silent, staring in almost awe.

Steve looked like he was about to burst into tears, like he'd just seen a ghost. In a way, he had.

Bucky raced into the bathroom, staring at himself in the sink mirror.

He breathed out, slowly.

_My turn to look like I've seen a ghost._

His hair was still long, and his hand was metal; no jacket could cover that.

But maybe…maybe that part was all right. (Well, the arm part; he kinda liked having long hair. And apparently women in this century found it attractive, according to Sam).

He could see Steve come up behind him, in the mirror.

"I figured…since we're gonna be out on missions, that you needed a uniform. I know you got some SHIELD-issue stuff from Coulson, but…I wanted you to have something that was yours. All yours."

And suddenly, Steve found himself swallowed up in a hug that seemed to engulf him (and that was no easy task).

"Thank you…" Bucky whispered. "I don't… _thank you_. For everything."

It wasn't just a thank-you for the jacket. It was a thank-you for every sleepless night, every talk after a flashback, every moment spent in silence when words wouldn't come, every time Steve had let him rage and scream and cry…

"Thank you…"

Steve sighed. "I'd do it a thousand times over. I…I was never gonna let you try and fix yourself, anyway."

They walked out into the living room; the two super soldiers, the living legends.

And, as anyone in Avengers Tower could tell you...they kinda lived up to the legends.


	16. Chapter 16

Epilogue

Thousands of feet above the ground, in airspace somewhere over Eastern Europe, Steve wasn't quite sure how he was managing to get text messages. Tony could probably explain, but he was busy flying the Quinjet they were traveling on.

(Also, Steve didn't feel like listening to a long-winded speech about the superiority of Stark Tech).

Besides, the important thing wasn't so much _how_ he was getting text messages, but that he _was_.

It was nearly one in the afternoon, currently, but it was seven a.m. in New York; which meant that Christy was most likely eating breakfast. Or, more accurately, texting him while Sam tried to shanghai her into eating breakfast.

_I got an A on my math test yesterday Daddy. And Sam got me ice cream. But I miss you…_

Steve smiled down at his phone, a little sadly. Over two years had gone by and being away from his kid still wasn't any easier.

 _Good job, baby. I miss you too. Be home before you know it,_ he texted back.

Bucky leaned over from where he was sitting. "Talking to the kid?"

"Yeah…" Steve trailed off as he showed Bucky the phone.

Bucky frowned for a moment; he could sense Steve's mood. But now was not the time for Captain America to get nostalgic for home. That could come later. He clapped Steve on the shoulder.

"C'mon. We'll be back soon. She's fine. She got ice cream!"

Steve smiled a bit. "Yeah, I guess so."

"We're twenty minutes out!" Tony called from the pilot's seat.

Thor, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce all started to stretch and get prepared for landing.

"Alright, so everyone, tell me the plan again." Steve said, using his best 'team leader' voice.

"Tony lands the plane in the woods." Clint started, sounding like a bored child giving an answer in school.

Natasha gave his head a light smack. "We split into groups and sneak up on the base from the sides and the back. Hopefully that should give us the element of surprise."

Tony smirked. "I use my handy-dandy remote to disable any alarms on the base. According to our tip, this is a small group of radicals and they don't have a very good alarm system…or good weapons…or good anything."

"Once the alarms are disabled, our, ah, _resident_ _stealth_ _masters_ …" Here Bruce gave a sweeping hand gesture towards Clint, Natasha, Steve, and Bucky, "will sneak in, plant the explosives, grab anything official-looking, and sneak out. Once the place blows sky-high, we set up a perimeter and block off any escape attempts."

"Sounds rather mundane…" Thor muttered.

Bucky snorted. "Any of those maniacs left alive is definitely _not_ mundane. There's a reason their motto is 'cut off one head, two more shall take its place.'"

"How did they even kill the hydra anyway?" Clint asked.

Nearly everyone stared at him as though he had lost his mind.

"Don't look at me like that! Wasn't there a myth where some guy had to kill a hydra?"

"Hercules…" Bruce said slowly, thinking. "And he…he burned the neck, after he cut off each head. He cauterized its wounds, essentially, to prevent new growth."

Tony began to take the plane lower, in preparation for landing.

"Well…" Steve said, a deadly grin on his face. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to do some… _cauterizing_."

* * *

Roughly two hours later, they had mostly wrapped things up. Everything had gone more-or-less according to plan.

Bucky's favorite part (yes, he was allowed to have a favorite part of dangerous missions, dang it!) was the shocked looks on people's faces when at last they'd recognized him. Most, he'd simply cold-clocked and tied up, enjoying a private snicker to himself.

But one encounter had definitely stuck out.

_He grabbed several files as he was setting up explosives. A young man walked into the room. His eyes instantly went wide._

_Bucky flew over, restrained him against the wall. "Get over there." he hissed in Russian, gesturing to a corner with his pistol._

_The man nervously complied. Bucky finished setting explosives._

_"_ _Were…were you the Winter Soldier?" the man whispered, staring wide-eyed at his metal arm._

_Bucky smirked a bit. "You used past tense. Very good. You just might live." At the man's very confused look, he added, "I_ _**was** _ _the Winter Soldier, the Fist of HYDRA. Not anymore."_

_"_ _A g-ghost s-story…th-they s-said…"_

_"_ _The ghost is back from the dead." Bucky frowned at the man, the boy, really. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two or three. "What are you doing here, anyway; with them?"_

_The man looked down. "They said they'd save the world." He sounded hollow, worn, like that was the phrase he'd been using far too often to comfort himself lately._

_Bucky snorted. "More like destroy it. That's all they do. Destroy." He flicked his gun toward the door._

_Nobody had ever said they couldn't take prisoners…and besides, he was just a kid. A kid who'd been tricked and royally screwed over._

_"_ _C'mon. You're coming with me."_

_Gulping with trepidation, the man walked out of the room._

_"_ _What's your name, kid?" he asked, trying out English._

_The man looked back, shocked. "N-Nikolai." he mumbled. "My name Nikolai."_

_Bucky nodded. Names were important, after all._

They'd taken a few other prisoners, who would be dropped off at the SHIELD base in New York. Currently, they were all restrained in a large, basement-like room on the 'jet.

But right now, they were headed home.

_Home…_

They were all clustered around in the cockpit and seating area, laughing like fools and being generally loud.

The sounds jogged his memory, tugged him back to the Commando days. Back then, he would have been in the thick of the celebrations.

Now, he sat quietly, drinking everything in.

Steve flopped down next to him. "Ready to be back?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah…"

"Heard you dragged back a prisoner, all by yourself."

Bucky's lips curled up. "Just a kid who got sucked int'a madness. Hopin' Coulson can straighten him out. Or Tasha."

Steve sighed. "Yeah…that would be nice." he looked Bucky over. "You doin' alright?"

Bucky snorted. "M'fine, punk. Just glad you didn't take any stupid risks. Glad to have put another dent in HYDRA."

"It's been a long war, huh?" Steve said quietly. "Woulda thought we'd be done."

"We'll never be done." Bucky muttered. At Steve's incredulous glare, he clarified. "If it wasn't HYDRA, it'd be someone else. People always try to rule the world. Every age, every generation…it's all the same."

They were quiet for a moment, Bucky's words hanging in the air.

"Well…" Steve finally said. "if I have to keep fighting in a whole other century…I'm real glad it could be with you."

And that, that was the thing. The thing that Bucky had been puzzling over for some time.

If he had died, truly died, Steve would've been left alone in a new century. If Steve had died when he'd crashed the plane, the world would have found new heroes, maybe even created the Avengers. But they would have been missing a part, an important part.

On a smaller, but no less valuable level, a little girl would have never been found.

Nothing had gone right for the two of them. There could be no argument that what they had experienced was 'good'.

And yet…

And _yet_.

Because evil men had taken him, frozen him, he was now here, able to be with Steve once more. Because of the ice, Steve was able to be the hero, the good man, the _father_ that this new century needed.

_Everything that tried to be bad came out good…_

He smiled slightly, remembering a line from those books Steve had pressed him into reading.

_"_ _I thought you were dead! But then, I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad going to come untrue? What's happened to the world?"_

"It's kinda funny, all this…" Steve whispered. "We were never supposed to be here. Just a couple'a boys from Brooklyn. Who woulda guessed?"

"Yeah…" Bucky said, once again throwing his arm around Steve's shoulders. "It's a miracle. The kind you read about in books and think would never happen in a million years."

"A miracle…" Steve repeated back.

Yes, it truly was.

It wasn't every day, after all, that a man practically came back from the dead.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, in a HYDRA base in Sokovia, a certain individual would proclaim this the "Age of Miracles".

In defining _miracle_ , however, he was not exactly thinking along the same lines as Steve and Bucky. His 'miracles' were more 'manipulations'.

But that is a story best left for another day.

* * *

They made it back to the Tower. It was late, everyone was jet lagged.

"She's already asleep…" Sam warned, as Steve poked his head into Christy's room.

A small blonde head rose up unsteadily. "Dad?"

Steve smiled. "Hey, baby."

"Daddy!" In the space of five seconds, Christy had tumbled out of bed and practically climbed up Steve's chest.

"Whoa, whoa!" Steve grabbed Christy and held her on his shoulder.

"I love you, Daddy…" she whispered. Steve smiled.

"Love you, too…"

"So much for asleep…" Bucky muttered. Sam gave him a mild glare.

"Did you have fun with Sam?" Steve asked.

"Uh-huh. But I missed you. And I missed Uncle Bucky."

Bucky couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. Steve set Christy down and the girl immediately made a beeline for him.

"I love you, Uncle Bucky!"

The smile got wider.

 _Love_.

It was still a slightly foreign concept, although he was understanding it better every day. Maybe even better than before he fell.

Love wasn't sappy stuff. Love wasn't always _nice_ or _pretty_.

Love was the arms that held you while you screamed and thrashed and cried out at enemies that weren't there.

Love was the look that said, _"You're okay with me,"_ when you felt like a failure.

Love was stronger than ice, stronger than brainwashing, stronger than nightmares, stronger than pain.

Love was ' _til the end of the line;_ even if the end of the line was dark, desolate, and downright scary on occasion.

He bent down his head as Christy snuggled into his chest.

"I…I love you, too…" he whispered.

This was home. This was where he belonged.

He could get used to belonging. He was part of a team once again. And if he was still a little bit broken, well…

Nobody ever said he had to fix himself.


End file.
